


Tightrope

by TheLordOfLaMancha



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Attempted Murder, Blood and Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kidnapping, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Organized Crime, Other relationships if you squint, Post heist, Stitches, blatant misuse of poetry, fleeing from crime, for courfjehan, lying, mainly jehanparnasse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-12 18:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21480718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfLaMancha/pseuds/TheLordOfLaMancha
Summary: When Montparnasse is forced to flee to country to escape arrest, Jehan must bridge the gap between the Amis and the Patron-Minette to clear Montparnasse's name and bring him home. However, Inspector Javert is the least of everyone's worries when the gang that set up Montparnasse will stop at nothing to ensure Montparnasse takes the fall.Will Jehan be able to earn the trust of the Patron-Minette and stay alive long enough to clear Montparnasse's name? Is Montparnasse's love worth the risk a life of crime brings with it?From ridiculous fake-dating to attempted murder, this fic is a wild adventure.
Relationships: Claquesous/Fauntleroy (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac & Jean Prouvaire, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 23
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moonfreckle (Sunfreckle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/gifts).

> This fic is for Freckle. It was requested nearly two years ago with the prompt "A Kiss We Had to Wait For." I definitely made you wait. ;)
> 
> Thank you for reminding me endlessly that this was a project I should finish on my own terms, and not on perceived expectations. I am proud I finished it, even if it's not my best. <3
> 
> As this fic is for Freckle, it is bound by the following rules:
> 
> \- This fic will have a happy ending.  
\- There is comfort when there is hurt.  
\- There is humour, even when things get dark.
> 
> It is also bound by my own rules:
> 
> \- Jehan will only ever commit violence in self-defence  
\- While certain characters may have committed violence outside of the fic, none of the Patron-Minette or Jehan will commit serious acts of violence during this fic.
> 
> I'm not usually a multi-chapter writer, so I ask for your assistance with the suspension of disbelief.
> 
> Enjoy!

Montparnasse was sprawled like a dark shadow on the couch as the sun split in streaks through the living room. He swung a lazy leg back and forth over the edge, and drummed his fingers against his phone where it lied on the flat of his stomach. He drifted sleepily to the white noise of the city rushing outside his window.

His phone whistled with a quiet bird song, the vibration sending butterflies trilling through his middle.

_I miss you_, the text read. _This class is dreadful_.

Alone and safe and warm inside the confines of his apartment, Montparnasse smiled at the message, running his thumb over the words.

_A shame really, _he tapped back. _I know you were looking forward to it._

When his phone whistled softly again, it was a picture this time, a selfie of the wild Jehan Prouvaire, though perhaps not his best angle. The shot was taken from low on a desk, probably from where Jehan was hiding his phone behind some textbooks. He seemed utterly bored, looking away at some distant stuffy old professor.

Montparnasse lifted his phone to send back a selfie with the most devilishly handsome look he could give the camera from his current position.

He sent it off with the following message: _You wouldn’t be that bored if you were here. Run away with me, Jehan Prouvaire._

Jehan replied with several blushing emojis before writing: _Perhaps later we can investigate these poems together? I think they require a more… intimate investigation._

Montparnasse bit his lip and sighed contently. Poetry, of all things, is what gets to him now.

If you had told Montparnasse a year ago that he would get such a delight from the sheer concept of poetry, he would have laughed in your face. Literature, he would have said, was for bourgie prats with too much time on their hands.

But then of course, Jehan Prouvaire had changed everything.

_You know I’d love that, darling_, he replied. Then he added: _But those Romantics of yours never quite got it. Perhaps I could give them a run for their money?_

The reply was a photo of Jehan blushing prettily into their scarf. Their class must have ended.

_I would like to see you try_, the follow up text read.

Montparnasse was halfway through deciding on a reply when someone began urgently banging on his door, hard enough that he could see the hinges rattle. His phone slipped to the floor with a clatter, and he frantically reached for a switchblade he had hidden in a drawer of an end table.

He leapt to his feet and walked quickly and silently to hide behind the door when the person began efficiently picking the lock from the other side. The door swung open.

“’Parnasse!” the person shouted into the apartment, and Montparnasse was a half breath from jumping them until he recognized who it was.

“Babet?” Montparnasse asked incredulously, lowering his knife when he realized he still had it raised.

“You need to leave,” Babet demanded urgently, an edge of panic in his voice. He grabbed Montparnasse’s arm and began dragging him to his bedroom. “Quickly.”

“What’s going on?” Montparnasse asked when he was shoved roughly into the room.

“No time for questions,” Babet whispered. “Grab your passport and— never mind, we’ll have to make you a new one – grab what cash you have and a jacket and let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s going on,” Montparnasse said slowly, trying to calm Babet down. He did begin rifling through his drawers for his emergency cash though. Babet was pulling things out of his closet and stuffing them into a bag.

“’Parnasse,” Babet whined. “We need to leave.”

“Babet,” Montparnasse growled, looking Babet in the eye.

The older man sighed and rushed over to hold Montparnasse by the shoulders.

“The heist,” Babet said.

“The heist?” Montparnasse asked. “What about-”

“You know what the fuck I’m talking about!” Babet shouted, pushing Montparnasse away. “The heist, with Tholomyes. The Inspectors are on their way here right now.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Montparnasse bit back, moving to still Babet’s hands as he packed. “I’m not afraid of a few thugs and some Inspectors who can’t prove anything.”

“Montparnasse!” Babet cried. “Would you just listen to me for once in your life? _You’re_ the fall guy! Tholomyes set you up, the Inspectors _can_ prove you did it.”

“How? I wasn’t even there!” Montparnasse insisted, waiving his hands around in frustration.

“Sure you weren’t,” Babet rolled his eyes. “We don’t have time to debate this, the fucking Inspector has evidence, and I’m not going to stand by and lose my best pick pocket because you’re a fucking reckless idiot.”

Babet pushed past Montparnasse to start shoving the cash in the drawer into the bag with the clothes.

“You’re on the first plane to Rio and you are going to like it and pretend nothing is wrong.”

“Rio!?” Montparnasse exclaimed. “Are you out of your mind? I’ll lay low sure, but I have… things here.”

_I have people here_, he doesn’t say.

“I’m not crazy, you are!” Babet insisted, grabbing Montparnasse by the arm again and dragging him into the living room. “You know the risks of living like this. We all do. Nothing we have is permanent. Whatever it is that’s keeping you here, you’re going to have to learn to live without it.”

Babet tugged harder, but Montparnasse broke free and doubled back to grab the phone he had left lying on the floor. He frantically began to type out a message.

_Jehan,_ he sent.

“Give me that!” Babet snapped, grabbing the phone before he could finish the rest of the message. “We don’t need to get anyone else involved, let alone the police tracking you.”

“Please,” Montparnasse begged. “One message. I’ll go, just _one message_.”

Babet just glared at him, slipping the phone into his pocket.

“Allons-y,” he directed. “There’s a car waiting out back. If we’re lucky, we’ll get out without gunfire alerting the neighbours.”

In Babet’s pocket, the phone buzzed and gave a soft whistle.

_Yes, my love?_

_…_

_Parnasse?_

* * *

Claquesous ferried a sullen Montparnasse to the airport, a new and very fake passport in his hands.

“You remember the check in procedures?” Claquesous said simply.

Montparnasse nodded, and leaned his head against the glass window of the taxi. In an uncharacteristic fashion, Claquesous rested a hand on Montparnasse’s arm, but he brushed the older boy off.

Claquesous looked at him, concern clear despite his covered face.

“The boss said I can’t tell him,” Montparnasse explained to the passing sidewalks. “I had one thing, one good thing, and now I’m going to lose it all. He doesn’t deserve this, ‘Sous. He deserves so much better than me. And I can’t even tell him.”

Claquesous looked thoughtful for a moment, and Montparnasse thought their little one-sided conversation was over. But then Claquesous nudged Montparnasse and slipped an envelope out of his inner jacket pocket.

Looking closer, Montparnasse could see Fauntleroy’s name, followed by an address he didn’t recognize. He looked back at Claquesous in confusion.

“In case of the worst,” Claquesous whispered, and Montparnasse’s eyes widened in understanding.

Digging through his bag desperately for any scrap of paper and failing, he grumbled and pulled out a crumbled bill at random. Montparnasse thought for a moment before scratching out a message. He handed it to Claquesous with the following address scrawled on the one side:

_Jehan Prouvaire, Café Musain._

“A hundred? Really?”

“Please, ‘Sous,” Montparnasse begged, and the older boy tucked the bill into the pocket with the envelope.

“Only if he comes looking,” Claquesous said gravely, and Montparnasse’s face fell. “To keep him safe.”

Begrudgingly, Montparnasse nodded. “If he comes looking. He will. That’s what I’m worried about.”

Claquesous just huffed.

The rest of the trip was quiet, until the two parted ways in the crowd around customs.

“Merci, ‘Sous,” Montparnasse whispered.

And with that, Montparnasse disappeared through the gates and from their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan worries, and the Amis are... less than helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for abuse of alcohol in this chapter. Also warnings for implied murder. And Courfeyrac making lewd comments.

It was a rare meeting when Grantaire left his melancholy corner and made the rounds of the Café Musain. Tonight was one of those nights. And Jehan Prouvaire was considering taking up his vigil. The empty wine glasses in front of him qualified him for the position, he thought.

Jehan watched his friends mill boisterously around the space through the stems of the glasses. He tapped the screen of his phone to make it wake. Still nothing.

Montparnasse had never been the most… _reliable_ when it came to replying to texts. But even at his worst, he would inevitably get around to replying in the early hours of the morning with an eloquent excuse and reassurance.

But it had been _three days_.

Jehan had tried calling of course. But the dial had gone straight to voicemail and Montparnasse’s inbox must be getting close to full with worried messages.

But perhaps what was worse was that terrible open-ended message that just read his name.

“Hey,” a soft voice said next to him, and Courfeyrac slid into the seat. “Are you alright?”

“I will be,” Jehan admitted honestly. Courfeyrac raised a hand and stroked Jehan’s back soothingly.

“You’ve been checking your phone constantly all night,” he observed. “What are you waiting for?”

“Just a message,” Jehan sighed, tilting his head where he was resting it on the table so he could look at Courfeyrac. He smiled sadly. “Nothing to worry yourself over.”

“Well, if it worries you, it worries us,” Enjolras declared, taking the seat across from Courfeyrac. Combeferre joined him on his right. “Please tell us what’s upset you. We can’t bear to see you like this.”

“Perhaps we can help,” Combeferre added.

“I wish you could,” Jehan admitted. “But I believe time may be the only remedy to my melancholy.”

“Try me,” Combeferre said, leaning back with a soft smile. “Talking goes a long way.”

Jehan considered the offer. The table was quiet while they let him think.

Montparnasse had been something of a secret Jehan kept. The Amis certainly knew he was seeing _someone_, but the particulars of who and what and when were kept largely under wraps. The less his friends knew, the better. The _safer. _A consequence of the risk he had taken.

“I… I think something’s wrong,” Jehan admitted carefully.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras prompted when Jehan remained silent.

Jehan looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath.

“I’m worried… I’m worried that something bad has happened to my…” _Lover? Amour? Boyfriend? Had they ever even discussed that?_ “Partner.”

“What makes you say that?” Combeferre asked.

Courfeyrac cast his eyes down to where Jehan had absentmindedly tapped at his phone again. Still nothing. Across the room, Eponine raised an eyebrow at Jehan, and he just shook his head softly. She frowned and headed for the bar.

Alright, so Montparnasse was a secret to _almost_ all of the Amis.

“Did you fight?” Courfeyrac asked. “Or did they send you a message of some kind?”

“He sent a message but… it’s been three days since the last one.”

“Well what did it say?” Courfeyrac asked, reaching for Jehan’s phone. But Jehan’s reflexes were quicker and he covetously snapped the phone up before Courfeyrac could even touch it.

Jehan looked back at him in fear and Courfeyrac waggled his eyebrows.

“Ohhh,” Courfeyrac crooned. “It’s _that_ kind of message.”

Jehan had simply been trying to hide Montparnasse’s name, clear as day as the contact (with little hearts around it). However, he blushed deeply remembering the conversation that preceded that last, haunting text. He quickly buried his face in his arms on the table.

“You can show me, you know,” Courfeyrac explained. “We used to date, remember? What could you possibly have sent him that I haven’t already seen?”

Jehan let out a muffled groan as he tried to bury himself deeper into the table. Combeferre was leveling a glare at Courfeyrac who just smirked mischievously.

“Ooo or is this a sexting adventure gone so embarrassingly wrong that you’re ashamed to show me? Is that it?” Courfeyrac was laughing, but there was pity in it. “I had that happen to me once. It involved a wrong number, but it turns out she was really cute and I suppose it ended up being a good thing, ‘cause it turned into a wicked threesome –”

“That was more than I ever needed to know about you, Courf,” Eponine interrupted, nudging Jehan’s elbow with a new glass of wine. “Come on kid. Chin up, now. You know Montparnasse wouldn’t want you sulking over him.”

Jehan sat up, but not because of Eponine’s prodding. It was to level a lethal glare in her direction while the other jaws at the table dropped.

“I’m sorry,” Combeferre spoke softly. “But did I hear you correctly? Did you say Montparnasse?”

“You’re dating a _criminal?!_” Enjolras exclaimed, throwing all of Combeferre’s attempts at subtlety out the window.

Eponine just shrugged. When it was clear his glare was doing nothing, Jehan turned it on Enjolras.

“Oh, and you think you’re better?” Jehan snapped.

“Excuse me?” Enjolras asked, shocked.

“You’ve been to jail, what? At least five times now?” Jehan bit back.

“Seven,” Courfeyrac interjected. “But more importantly, you’ve been sending _sexts_ _to a criminal!?_”

“Yes, I’ve been to jail,” Enjolras grumbled. “But for civil disobedience. At least I haven’t killed someone!”

Jehan picked up the glass of wine Eponine had brought him. He couldn’t meet Enjolras’ gaze before he began to chug the glass.

“Oh my god,” Courfeyrac gasped. “He actually _has_ killed someone?”

If Jehan was going to get through this, he needed to be properly drunk. Smashed out of his Romantic mind. He was beginning to understand why Enjolras led Grantaire to drink.

Jehan tried to get up to get another glass of wine, but that much wine meant his balance was kind of off, and Eponine easily pushed him back down into the chair.

“Come on, Jehan,” Eponine said soothingly. “You love that messed up boy, the rest of us were going to find out eventually. Might as well be when we can actually help you.”

“You _love him_?!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

“Yes, I’ve been seeing Montparnasse,” Jehan bit back. “And yes, I damn well love him. What are you going to do about it?”

“Jehan,” Enjolras chided, but Jehan’s glare quieted him this time. His anger wasn’t something that he showed often.

However, Combeferre was less afraid.

“I respect that you must know Montparnasse better than any of us,” he began, in a voice that Jehan liked to think of as his “Mom” voice. “But I think you ought to consider that perhaps he’s just up and left? And God, I’d want to ring his neck as much as the next person for doing something like that to you. But he certainly seems like the kind of person to do something of that sort.”

When Jehan furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to defend Montparnasse, Combeferre threw his hands up in a pacifying gesture.

“All I mean is that Montparnasse seems to be the kind of person who could disappear as fast as a bowl of jellybeans in front of Enjolras.”

That got Enjolras’ serious expression to soften into a petulant pout and he crossed his arms. Jehan broke and set the table off into a round of giggles.

“Yes, very funny,” Enjolras said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry, Enj,” Jehan apologized as he calmed down. “But it really is true. Except, Combeferre… I can’t imagine Montparnasse ever just leaving like that. I… He would at least say goodbye. And it doesn’t explain why he would just text my name and nothing else.”

With a sigh, Jehan placed his phone down and unlocked it so everyone could see the message that had haunted Jehan for three days.

Eponine nodded her head in agreement. “He does have a reputation for fucking around, but I’ve never seen ‘Parnasse more serious about anyone. I’m pretty sure he’d come back from the dead for Jehan, and I can’t imagine what Jehan might’ve done to change that.”

Suddenly, Jehan’s stomach dropped straight through him and realization washed over him like a heatwave. He held his face in his hands.

“I didn’t… I didn’t even consider…” Jehan muttered. “What if he’s dead?”

Courfeyrac extended a hand to place on Jehan’s back again, but Eponine just laughed.

“He’s not,” she explained, waving her hands dismissively. “Trust me when I say you would have heard about that. Or at least I would have. Word like that travels very fast.”

“Have you heard anything?” Combeferre asked. “Has perhaps he been arrested then?”

“We would have seen that in the papers,” Enjolras mused, and Eponine nodded.

“There’s been murmurings, but nothing that’s made any sense,” she added. “That’s actually why I wanted to find out what happened. Turns out you don’t know either.”

She gave Jehan a sad smile, and he affectionately patted her hand.

“Does he have friends that might know?” Courfeyrac suggested. “Do criminals even have friends? I mean, they clearly have lovers, but…”

“Oi!” Eponine chided, and Courfeyrac visibly recoiled. “But it’s not a bad idea. I could ask around and find out where the Patron Minette hides out these days. If anyone knows where he is or what’s going on, it’s them.”

“I don’t want you to get yourself hurt, Eponine,” Jehan insisted.

“Nah,” Eponine replied. “I’ve still got connections. Besides, for all their talk, the Minette are harmless. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“It’s settled then,” Enjolras spoke up. “For now, Jehan, come enjoy the company of your friends and take your mind off this worry.”

But when a passing Grantaire tried to offer Jehan his own bottle of wine, Enjolras took it, adding, “And I think that’s quite enough of that for tonight as well. For the _both_ of you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan gets some unexpected visitors and some answers. And Montparnasse puts a plan into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only content warnings for this chapter are maybe... blackmail? Romanticizing crime? Blatant misuse of epic poetry?

Despite Enjolras’ insistence, Jehan begged off early from the meeting. Without the temptation of alcohol to unseat the anxious worry in his mind, he simply could not find the energy to be sociable.

His trip home was quiet, and it allowed his mind to wander terribly. And no music, or poetry, or any of his usual coping mechanisms would quell the press of urgency in the back of his mind. He knew in his bones that something was wrong.

Eponine was right, if Montparnasse had been killed, they would have heard about it. He knew there was little else he could do besides trying to call _one more time._ He’d simply have to wait to hear from her. However, that still left a dozen or more terrible situations for Jehan’s creative mind to mull over, anything and everything that might have cut off Montparnasse after desperately texting his name. And anything that would have kept him from replying since.

He also knew Combeferre could be right as well. He wasn’t a fool. Montparnasse could simply have tired of him, he supposed. But there was something in Jehan’s spirit that steadfastly refused to believe it. He would worry himself sick imagining kidnappings and near lethal injuries and worse before he’d ever entertain the idea that Montparnasse would simply leave him like that.

That had been clear from the very first time they’d had a serious talk. There was trust, and with trust had come honesty. If it got to be too much, the door would always be open. But they would at least do the courtesy of telling the other they were taking their leave.

There were two people waiting outside Jehan’s door. He frowned when he spied a familiar face.

“Inspector,” Jehan addressed, stilling outside his apartment.

“Monsieur Prouvaire,” Inspector Javert replied, turning to face Jehan and taking off his hat.

At the mention of his name, the other officer lifted his head up to look at him. Jehan could see when the man grinned that his teeth were jagged and uneven. He seemed excessively brash compared to the polished demeanour of the Inspector, and didn’t remove his hat. He simply raised an eyebrow at Jehan, and seemed to scoff with a shake of his head before returning to flicking the lighter in his hand.

Something about him was eerily familiar to Jehan. Like a ghost of someone he knew well.

“What are you doing here?” Jehan asked bluntly, crossing his arms.

“We are simply tracking a dangerous criminal,” Javert explained. “A known fugitive of the law.”

“That doesn’t explain why you are at _my_ apartment,” Jehan said. “Do you have a warrant? Are you here to arrest me? I have a right to know for what crimes I am being accused.”

The phrases were delivered as though practiced, and they were. After the first time Enjolras had been arrested, he had made all the Amis practice in case they too had found themselves on the wrong side of the law.

Javert’s serious expression turned sour and he grimaced, ignoring Jehan’s original question.

“We are not here for you, Monsieur,” he said gravely. “As I said, we are tracking a fugitive and we believe he may have passed through here.”

Jehan furrowed his brow and passed between the two officers to unlock his apartment. He entered and looked around, gesturing to the space as the officers followed him in.

“I was home most of the day, and my apartment looks just as I left it. I believe you may be mistaken.”

Javert gestured to a chair at a small table in the kitchen, and Jehan stepped through to take it.

“We believe the gentleman may have made your acquaintance,” Javert pressed on, taking the seat across from Jehan at the table. “Would you be willing to aid us in our investigation?”

Jehan narrowed his eyes at Javert for a moment, and he stilled, considering his words.

“If it is truly in service of justice,” Jehan replied carefully.

“Are you familiar with a gentleman by the name of Valentin Desjardin?” Javert asked, and Jehan’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Who?” Jehan asked. The name was foreign to him.

“A Monsieur Desjardin?” Javert repeated. “Valentin?”

Jehan frowned and shook his head. He calmed slightly, as he realized he had nothing to hide.

“Perhaps by his alias then,” Javert pressed. “He may have introduced himself as Montparnasse.”

Fear swept over Jehan like a wave crashing into his back and his heart fell straight through his stomach. He fought to keep his eyes from widening in shock and his expression level.

They had practiced this, him and Montparnasse. Montparnasse had always been worried that something like this might happen, and Jehan, wanting to assure Montparnasse that his trust was not misplaced, wanted to learn how to lie convincingly.

It had involved a lot of games of poker.

_Come on Jehan_, he begged himself, _just breathe. Perhaps Javert knows what happened_.

He tried to fake a thoughtful expression to give him time to find composure.

“Like the cemetery?” he asked Javert, and prayed his voice didn’t sound too broken.

“Indeed,” Javert responded gravely. His eyes scarcely waivered from Jehan’s face.

Jehan swallowed and rose from his place at the table.

“I’m going to make some tea,” he stated, and paced over to the counter to fill the kettle. “Would you like some?”

Javert shook his head but continued to watch Jehan’s every move.

When he was faced away from the Inspector at the sink, he replied, “I don’t believe I’ve met anyone by that name. And I certainly would have remembered someone with such a Romantic name as that.”

Jehan tossed a glance over his shoulder and saw Javert narrowing his gaze and frowning. The other officer came into the kitchen from the living room.

“Perhaps he didn’t introduce himself at all?” the other officer suggested as Jehan busied himself at the stove. “That would certainly be Romantic, would it not? An encounter with a stranger?”

Jehan stilled as he was about to set the kettle, glancing over his shoulder. The officer was leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen.

“He’s been seen frequenting these apartments lately,” the officer added, almost slyly. There was something about the way he said it that put Jehan on edge. He felt boxed in and trapped by the two policemen as they pushed their line of questioning. But the comment also gave Jehan an angle to work with. He took a deep breath.

“You mean to say this criminal has visited here multiple times?” Jehan asked incredulously, whirling around to face them. “And you have not informed the tenants of this building? We are at a serious risk, and you have not warned us to be on our guard?”

Javert’s glare turned on his partner, and he dropped his face into his hand with a sigh.

“At this early stage in the investigation, I must stress that what we are discussing here is of a sensitive nature, and we ask your cooperation in keeping this quiet,” Javert stated. “We do not wish to panic civilians without due cause.”

“What is this gentleman accused of?” Jehan pushed. “What dangers are we facing?”

“Among other crimes,” Javert drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We are searching for him in connection to a large profile robbery committed a few weeks back. You may have seen it in the papers.”

_The heist. _Their first big profile job, Montparnasse had told him with a thrill oh so long ago.

“A robber? In this neighbourhood?” Jehan remarked, incredulous. “And I thought it such a safe place to live. But crime is on the rise, is it not, Inspector? Surely no part of the city is safe from such bad apples as your _Monsieur de la cimetière_. Alas, I’ll have to improve the security of my apartment if it cannot be kept safe by the police.”

Turning to his partner, Javert motioned to the exit, scowling.

“And we will leave you to do so, Monsieur Prouvaire,” he said gravely. “However, please take my card. Should this rogue make any attempt to contact you, please call me. I cannot stress the consequences that befall those harbouring a known criminal.”

And with that, the Inspector left with his partner and shut the door.

So Jehan was right. Montparnasse was in trouble.

And people had seen him visiting Jehan. But Jehan would take the fall a hundred times over if he just knew that Montparnasse was alright.

He collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs and gasped out his repressed panic. The business card crumpled in his fist as tears began to streak down his face.

* * *

Montparnasse lounged on the deck of a yacht and watched the rich, golden sun set over the waters off the coast of Rio de Janeiro. He ran a finger idly over the rim of the glass in his other hand.

Turning his face away from the light, he sighed and pulled off his sunglasses. Dismissively, he tossed them to the side. They had cost more than anything he had ever even considered stealing, let alone paying for.

Babet had been right in a sense, of course. Of all of the Patron Minette, he would be the one who would make the most advantage of living in the lap of luxury, quickly trying to burn through the spoils of the heist. He had bought a boat, for crying out loud. That’s what rich people do, right? Jehan would know.

Jehan.

Montparnasse leant forward and ran his hand through his hair, frowning.

Sure, Montparnasse was enjoying his incredible views, his fine luxury goods, the expensive liquor in his cup, but _he wasn’t happy_.

No matter where he went, all he wanted was to be home.

And more specifically, home with Jehan.

When he went out, the streets were a riot of colour, and all he could think of was Jehan’s warm patchwork quilts and hand knitted sweaters. Despite the sunny climate, he felt cold without them around.

Markets would be lined with tropical fruits, fresher than he could ever get back home. But all he wanted was to purchase a few and split them with Jehan, an afternoon picnic in the park, lying in the long grass and listening to him breathe. Knowing he was safe. Knowing he was well. Knowing that if he turned his head, there he would be, smiling back at him.

And when night came, and the sunny days split the sky into a brilliant orange, Montparnasse would miss the feeling of Jehan’s long red hair running through his fingers, and Jehan’s gentle touch and soft words pulling him to bed.

So Montparnasse lounged his days, brooding and morose, and waited for the world to fall back into place.

Certain pieces had already come through, and Montparnasse knew he was long overdue to put them into action.

He picked up his phone, shiny-new and heavily encrypted, and hovered a thumb over the keypad. He had Jehan’s number memorized and oh, God, what he would do to hear his voice right now. But it would be a risk to call him anyways, Montparnasse knew. Claquesous had been right, it was safer not to get him involved.

But Claquesous didn’t know. Guelemer, Babet, they didn’t know either. It was the one hole in Babet’s plan. They didn’t know that Tholomeyes knew about Jehan. It was a gamble Montparnasse had taken and taken alone.

Well, not entirely alone because of course Montparnasse had told Jehan. It was a gamble, a risk Jehan had agreed they should take together.

“They always find something they can blackmail you with,” Montparnasse had said. “A weakness. A secret they’ll keep as a code among thieves but that they can use against you if you betray them.”

Jehan had looked thoughtful for a moment, curled up around his tea, across from Montparnasse on the couch.

“He knows I’ve been coming to see you,” he continued solemnly. “He’s decided you’re my weakness.”

But then a look of sheer satisfaction crossed Jehan’s face, and Montparnasse knew there would be trouble. A satisfied Jehan, a _sure_ Jehan, meant that there would be mischief.

“What is it, _mon coeur_?” Montparnasse had asked when Jehan had remained quiet.

He hummed. “Is he wrong?”

Montparnasse just groaned and shuffled closer to bury his face in Jehan’s hair. A hand on his face had coaxed Montparnasse into looking at him.

“As long as you feel that it’s safe,” Jehan whispered. “I’m okay with this. I trust you.”

Montparnasse had thought he might die with how in love he felt with Jehan.

Thankfully, Jehan proceeded to provide the necessary resuscitation in kisses and soft touches.

“Besides, I won’t even be there that night. All they need is some easy job before. They contract that shit out, you know?”

But when Montparnasse had agreed that it would be safe, he had never imagined it would all go to shit, cocky as he was. And he should have been around to protect Jehan, be the one degree of separation between his normal life and his midnight escapades. He was certain Jehan had underestimated the risk.

The problem now was that Tholomyes would surely go looking for Jehan when he learned Montparnasse had disappeared and didn’t go quietly.

No, Montparnasse had to warn Jehan. Or at least get him to safety. Jehan had trusted him. And right now, no one was capable of ensuring Jehan’s safety more than Montparnasse’s found family, short of Jehan carefully curled in his own arms.

He knew he couldn’t wait for Jehan to find his way to the Patron Minette on his own. He needed to make Claquesous and Gueulemer and, most importantly, Babet, _need_ to seek Jehan out.

As he looked out at the sea, he pondered on the gravity of the whole situation. It was at times like this that Montparnasse often wished he was wiser, like Babet. Someone who saw the burden love was, saw the risk, and ran the other way. But of course, Jehan’s love was a burden worth bearing. They both had chosen their albatross, and they wore them well.

Then Montparnasse laughed to himself. It was obvious of course. _Instead of a cross, an albatross._

Montparnasse had an idea. A plan, of sorts. More of a puzzle really. Jehan _had_ always delighted in a good puzzle. Especially a puzzle only Jehan could solve.

The sun had long since set, and the cool night air settled in from the sea. Montparnasse returned inside the yacht and folded out a small desk to start his letter. _Bluebird_, it began.

He would mail it in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so...
> 
> 1) I'm sorry for naming Montparnasse Valentin. But it suits him well, does it not?
> 
> 2) Yeah, that was a pretty niche reference to the _Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner_, which, if you haven't read it, is a time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan finds the Patron Minette and is an unwelcome surprise. However, he proves useful in helping to solve Montparnasse's code.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for stalking, light violence, and threatening murder.

About a week later, Eponine rapped on Jehan’s door.

“I found them,” she said. “Warehouse district. In the North.”

She handed Jehan a piece of paper. He had his coat on and was out the door before he had even finished reading the address.

The wind was brisker this far out of the city, and Jehan curled tighter into his thin coat. The mid-day sun made the walk bright and sunny, but there was hardly another soul to be seen on the streets.

And yet, Jehan had the strangest suspicion he was being followed. It only deepened the chill.

The warehouse itself looked dishevelled and rusting, and Jehan only found it through a combination of the map on his phone and the numbers on the neighbouring buildings. There was no obvious entrance Jehan could see from the street. He supposed that made it ideal for a gang that sought to keep a low profile.

The property itself was relatively barren, and Jehan tried to keep on his guard as he scanned the surroundings and walls. But the minute he rounded the back of the building, someone grabbed him. Jehan struggled, but a hand wrapped around him from behind and covered his mouth. He whimpered and froze in place.

“Don’t scream.”

Jehan shook his head vigorously, and the hand on his mouth disappeared but it tightened around his wrist and spun him around with a sharp tug. He turned to be face to face with a taller man in a dark hoodie, the hood pulled up and the edges of a white mask just barely visible in the shadows.

“Claquesous,” Jehan breathed, and Claquesous pulled Jehan roughly into the shadows.

“How do you know that?”

Jehan shrugged.

“A friend,” he said instead.

“How did you find us?”

Jehan offered the piece of paper with the address, not willing to give Eponine away.

Claquesous scowled and gripped Jehan’s wrist tighter, taking the paper with his other hand.

“Were you followed?” he asked.

“I thought I was being followed,” Jehan frowned. “But I think it was just you. Do you know where Montparnasse is?”

“Why?” he asked simply.

“I’m not sure,” Jehan admitted. “Just one of those intuition things, you know?”

“No,” Claquesous sighed. “Why are you looking for Montparnasse?”

“He hasn’t replied,” Jehan explained. “And he’s in trouble. I think something went wrong with the heist? The Investigators said…”

Claquesous growled and pinned Jehan up against the wall, the metal sheeting rattling in Jehan’s ears as an arm dug into his throat.

“Snitch,” he hissed.

“No, no!” Jehan insisted as best he could, his hands scrabbling at the stranger’s arm. “I didn’t tell Javert anything. _I don’t know what’s going on!_”

Claquesous hissed at Javert’s name and pushed Jehan harder against the wall, lifting him a few inches off the ground. Jehan gasped and squirmed until a knee dug into his hip to still him. Somewhere to his right, he could hear the creak of a door opening.

“Please!” Jehan spluttered out desperately. “Montparnasse. He told me about you. Please, you have to help me find him.”

Claquesous glared and continued to scowl, but the pressure on Jehan’s throat lessened slightly. He gasped, but held the taller man’s glare as footsteps approached on the asphalt.

“’Sous!” someone new called. “What’s happening?”

“He knows,” Claquesous growled, and when the new man raised a confused eyebrow, said, “And he’s talked with Javert.”

“I swear I said nothing,” Jehan insisted. “Something’s gone wrong. Please, you have to help me.”

“You!” the other, larger man said suddenly, shoving off Claquesous’ arm. Jehan dropped forward and took in ragged breaths, but was roughly wrenched upright by the man shaking his shoulders. “You’re petit oiseau! I mean… Jehan?”

Jehan nodded emphatically. “Yes! I’m looking for Montparnasse…”

Something in Claquesous’ expression changed. Well, what of it Jehan could see through the mask and the shadow.

The larger man turned look at Claquesous. “Dude, what are you doing? Montparnasse is going to kill you if you hurt him.”

Claquesous snorted and reached his other hand inside his jacket. Jehan swallowed, really, really hoping it wasn’t a gun.

“That bitch was fucking right,” the larger man muttered incredulously, running a hand through his hair. “Montparnasse said you’d come looking.”

Jehan could feel the tension in the air blow away on the breeze, but he was still on edge.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you both?” Jehan hazarded. “Claquesous and… Gueulemer, I believe? I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances.”

Jehan flinched when Claquesous drew his hand out of his jacket, but in it was only a slightly crumpled bill. He offered it to Jehan with a sigh.

“I promised,” he said.

Jehan reached out hesitantly.

“Thank you?” Jehan replied, until he eyed the messy printing on one side.

_Jehan Prouvaire, Café Musain_, in Montparnasse’s lazy, loopy handwriting. Gasping in surprise, Jehan desperately flipped it over.

Scrawled there was;

_And fare-thee-well, my only love!_

_And fare-thee-well a while!_

_And I will come again, my love,_

_Though it were ten thousand miles._

_I’m sorry, mon amour. Forgive me. Be safe._

Jehan sighed, reverently running his fingers over the words. Then he brought a hand up to cover his mouth and quell the tears threatening to spill.

Suddenly, Gueulemer was crowding Jehan, trying to get a peek at the letter.

“Poetry?” Gueulemer asked confused. “Really?”

“He misquoted it too,” Jehan teased, but smiled fondly. “He tried. I imagine he was in a rush? It’s the last verse of _A Red, Red Rose_ by Robert Burns.”

“But it doesn’t tell you anything,” Gueulemer replied, looking up to Claquesous. “If it were me, I would have at least left him a hint or something.”

“Ah, but it says more than you think,” Jehan replied. “I know now that he’s gone away on travel, most likely on another continent, hence the reference to ten thousand miles. And for a considerable time, as suggested by the “fare-thee-well a while.” Also, he had to leave suddenly, otherwise he wouldn’t be sorry. He would have come to say goodbye.”

A single eyebrow arched up above Claquesous’ mask.

“You got that,” he said simply. “From this?”

“Of course, it’s plain as day,” Jehan replied. “What I don’t know is why exactly he left or where he went, but perhaps you two could help fill that in? I’m assuming something went wrong with the heist?”

Jehan could see Claquesous and Guelemer flinch.

Gripping Jehan’s arm and quickly looking around, Claquesous said, “Not here.”

He tugged Jehan inside and Gueulemer followed.

“I told you we should have set up a code system _before _he left,” a man complained from the corner as they entered the warehouse. He was holding a sheet of paper up to the high windows. “And he just couldn’t use one of the normal codes, the fucking drama queen. Couldn’t just use fucking thieves cant? No. I still have no idea what this means. We know it’s him, but what the fuck is ‘Instead of the cross, an Albatross?’”

“And I thought you were the smart one, Babet,” Gueulemer teased, flopping down on a couch.

“Forgive me, but I believe it’s from _The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner_,” Jehan explained and Babet’s head snapped up at the sound.

“What the fuck?” Babet cried out. “Why the fuck is he in here? Get rid of him! I can’t believe you two… the last thing we need right now is-”

“Jehan Prouvaire,” Gueulemer sing-songed with a flourish of his hand.

“I’m not dense,” he drawled and Claquesous released Jehan to walk over and take the paper Babet was waiving around. “I know who he fucking is. Why is he in here?”

Claquesous handed Jehan the paper.

“Translate,” Claquesous instructed instead, roughly shoving Jehan’s head down towards the page. Jehan rubbed his neck but scanned it.

_Bluebird_

_Instead of the cross, an Albatross_

_._

_And thus spake on that ancient man_

_._

_Alone on a wide, wide sea!_

_._

_It is an Ancient Mariner_

_END_

“This doesn’t mean a lot of anything,” Jehan frowned. “It’s lines from _The Rhyme_ alright, but they’re in the wrong order. Except Bluebird. That’s not from the poem.”

Babet grimaced, looking at Claquesous. “He already knows too much.”

“’Parnasse told him about the heist,” Claquesous stated, and Babet’s eyes widened.

“He did _what?”_

Claquesous just shrugged. Babet sighed, grumbled something unintelligible, and turned back to Jehan.

“Bluebird means it’s him and he’s safe,” Babet explained. “He decided that the check in procedure would be names of birds.”

“You’re saved as _Petit Oiseau_ in his phone,” Gueulemer explained, with a knowing smirk. Jehan blushed and fidgeted with the page in his hands.

“The rest of the message is a mess,” Babet continued, waiving a dismissive hand. “He was supposed to send us some way to contact him, and I doubt albatrosses make good carrier pigeons.”

“No, and not subtle either considering they’re the size of a small child,” Jehan agreed.

“They are _how big??_” Gueulemer asked incredulously, and pulled out his phone. “Hey Siri, show me a picture of an albatross.”

“Would you stop doing that?” Babet asked, frustrated. “You know that’s exactly how they’re able to track us.”

“Oh yeah,” Gueulemer laughed. “Like they’ll find me through my strange and varied search history. Are they going to arrest me for searching up fun facts about albatrosses? Is the free education provided by the School of Wikipedia illegal now?”

“Metaphorically,” Jehan cut in, trying to break the tension. “And I’m pulling a lot of context from the poem itself here, Montparnasse could just be complaining that he’s all alone shouldering some burden for some mistake he made?”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Gueulemer grumbled from the couch. “He whines about that when he’s here.”

“The dots are weird though,” Jehan continued, gesturing to the page for Claquesous. “And why really specific lines? These are from all over the poem… Unless… the line numbers?”

Jehan turned over the page onto a nearby desk, and plucking a pencil from where it was tucked in his braid, pulled up _The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner_ on his phone.

“Line 141… Dot… Line 39… Dot… Line uhh… 234… Dot… And then the first line,” Jehan said aloud as he copied it to the page. Claquesous loomed over his shoulder. “141.39.234.1. Does that mean anything to you?”

“IP…” Claquesous said suddenly, looking up at Babet.

Throwing himself into a computer chair, Babet began typing furiously into a computer.

“If he’s not an idiot and set up a VPN, we could connect to him…” Babet explained. “Boom. It’s an address in Germany. He set up a VPN and we can contact him through it.”

Babet continued typing, and suddenly tossed what was on his display to a TV on the wall nearby. On it was a picture of a computer desktop, with the background set as a picture of a bluebird.

Everyone cheered. Babet opened a word processing file on the bluebird desktop and began writing a message. _That was a fucking stupid code, you asshole_, it read.

“I’m glad that we figured it out,” Jehan said suddenly. “But ummm… What happened? When is Montparnasse coming back?”

“Deal with this?” Babet asked Gueulemer. “I’m a little busy now, and I don’t really want blood on my hands. Nothing personal, kid, but you know too much to stay alive.”

Jehan looked worried, but Gueulemer just snorted.

“I’m not killing the kid,” he said. “Then have Mont kill me when he gets back? Yeah, no thanks.”

Next to Jehan, Claquesous’ hand closed over Jehan’s arm and the taller man began to pull him back outside.

“No, please!” Jehan struggled, tugging against Claquesous’ grip. “Please! I won’t tell! I swear!”

However, Claquesous was stronger and dragged Jehan to the door, throwing him on the ground outside. Jehan had tears in his eyes as he began to panic, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The ground was rough on his hands as he scrambled away from Claquesous, who paced lazily towards him with his hands in his pockets. When Jehan hit the fence, Claquesous loomed over him in the sun. Back lit as he was, with the hood still pulled over his head, Claquesous face was nothing but shadow.

“Lucky for you, Montparnasse just ensured your usefulness,” Claquesous said darkly. “But if we hear you have told anyone anything… I’m not nearly as afraid of Montparnasse as those pushovers.”

Jehan swallowed thickly and shook his head. “I swear I won’t. Especially if it means getting ‘Parnasse home sooner. I want to help.”

Claquesous huffed. “’Parnasse may have been willing to risk our safety. I’m not. But for now, I guess I’ll have to trust his judgement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know very little about coding and hacking. I barely know what a VPN is... so I have no idea if this would actually work. :P
> 
> Also apologies again for abusing the _Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a heart to heart and a fake dating plan is concocted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slight warning for discussion of murder but nothing too serious.

Turns out, helping mostly consisted of Jehan occasionally being left cryptic notes inviting him back to the warehouse to decode weird poetry letters Montparnasse had sent.

Jehan was in the middle of decoding an obscure reference to Byron one afternoon when a familiar voice came from the TV screen.

“When am I coming back? All the rich people here do for fun is fuck each other and I can’t sleep with _anyone…_”

Jehan’s head snapped up to see Montparnasse on the screen. The thief was curled up in a bed, the camera jostling as he shifted. He was scrolling through a phone, not paying attention.

“I should hope not,” Jehan said, and Babet, in front of the laptop at the desk, smirked. “Especially since I’ve been waiting.”

Jehan watched as Montparnasse perked up, his eyes frantically scanning the screen of the computer in his lap. His brow furrowed in confusion.

“Jehan?” he asked softly.

Hearing his name, Jehan’s heart skipped a beat and he gasped. He rushed over to the desk and popped his head into the frame over Babet’s shoulder.

“Jehan… JEHAN!”

“Hello, my love!”

Montparnasse lit up when he saw him, an unchecked smile splitting across his face. Jehan could see where Montparnasse had reached out and was brushing his fingers against the screen.

“_Mon amour,_” Montparnasse purred. “_Mon petit oiseau_.”

Babet made a gagging noise and Montparnasse coughed and straightened up, running a hand through his unkempt bedhead, a blush breaking out across his cheeks.

“I mean…” he averted his eyes. “Hello.”

He couldn’t stop the wild smile, however.

Jehan laughed softly and blew him a kiss with a wink and a sly smirk. Montparnasse bit his lip and tangled his fingers in his hair again.

“I’ve missed you,” Jehan said solemnly.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

The line was silent for a minute while they just looked at each other, smiling like idiots.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Montparnasse eventually said.

“Me too.”

“Ugh, enough of this,” Babet spat. “You’ve had your little reconciliation, blah, blah, blah. I’ve leave you two alone with the call to do whatever gross lovey shit you feel the need to do later, but business first.”

“First order of business,” Montparnasse announced. “When am I coming home? I want to see Jehan.”

“I want to see Montparnasse,” Jehan agreed.

“I don’t care what you want, it will be some time yet,” Babet explained and Montparnasse grumbled. Frowning, Babet continued, “We’re working here to try and shake the blame onto someone from that backstabbing Tholomyes’ little gang, but Javert has alerted the police in Brazil that he’s looking for you. It’s out of Javert’s hands now, but I’d stay low and maybe make this into a bit of a world travel vacation.”

“Okay cool,” Montparnasse shrugged. “I’ll have to sell the Yacht, but eh, I was never much of a sailor anyways.”

“You bought a _yacht?_” Jehan asked in shock. “_Why?_”

“Isn’t this what rich people do?” Montparnasse shrugged. “They buy yachts and then fill them with all their rich friends.”

Jehan shook his head. “They give to charity and throw stupid, boring fundraiser galas and have book collections and get trophy wives and send their kids to boarding school!”

“Okay,” Montparnasse said. “You actually sound a bit bitter about that.”

Jehan sighed.

“Or they invest in crazy military tech and become vigilantes,” Babet muttered, and Jehan looked at him confused. “What? Batman!”

Jehan laughed. “Well I don’t think Montparnasse’s parents were shot in an alley…”

“Well…” Montparnasse winced, and Jehan looked at him in shock.

Babet laughed. “He’s kidding. He is an orphan though.”

“Well, not before his parents could name him freaking _Valentin_,” Jehan teased.

Montparnasse looked mortified and hid his face in his hands.

“Right, who the fuck told you?” he groaned. Jehan pulled up a chair next to Babet at the desk.

“Javert,” Babet said solemnly and that sobered Montparnasse quickly.

“I’m fine,” Jehan insisted when he saw the worry creep onto Montparnasse’s face.

“The Inspector knows he’s connected to you somehow,” Babet continued. “I say you should just end this and never see Jehan again.”

“For what it’s worth,” Jehan interjected, addressing Babet. “I would like to see Montparnasse again. I recognize the risk I’m putting myself at here. And I know you don’t want to trust me, but I also appreciate the risk you are putting yourselves at in doing so.”

“Are you really sure you understand the risk?” Babet asked solemnly. “Because I don’t think you do.”

Jehan glanced at Montparnasse on the screen, who was looking away now, worrying at the corner of his phone.

“He’s right, Jehan,” Montparnasse admitted with a sigh. “This is too much of a risk. _I’m_ too much of a risk.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s my decision,” Jehan said sharply.

“This isn’t about you, kid,” Babet countered.

“It is very much about him,” Montparnasse interjected. “That’s the problem.”

There was a pause, and Jehan watched the way Montparnasse bit at his lip.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t still hold to what I agreed to, Montparnasse,” Jehan replied. “If we end this, I want it to be because you don’t love me, not because you feel like you need to protect me.”

“I can’t let you die for me, Jehan.”

“That will never be a choice you get to make. Is that clear?” Jehan demanded.

“So… we have to shake Javert off Jehan’s trail,” Babet interjected. “Or at least give Jehan a route of plausible deniability.”

“Yeah,” Jehan said, remembering the visit from Javert. “People have seen you visiting me. I tried lying, but I think he knows we were seeing each other.”

“Were, being the operative word,” Babet explained. “I’ll leave you two to talk about it, but I think it would throw Javert off if Jehan were to ‘move on’ as it were.”

“What do you mean?” Montparnasse asked, his gaze becoming pointed. “Or rather, what are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting we kill him!” Babet bit back. “Though it would make this whole mess easier if we just did. But apparently, we can’t because you like him too much…”

Montparnasse glared.

“He knows too much, that’s all am saying,” Babet sighed. “What I meant was Jehan should move on to a different relationship. It doesn’t have to be real, but Jehan should at least _pretend_ to date someone else for a while. If Javert sees Jehan with someone else, he can’t claim you two are working together.”

Jehan turned to look at Montparnasse on the screen.

“What do you think?” he asked. “We’ll set rules of course.”

“And this is where I leave!” Babet announced, and, swiping a pack of cigarettes off the desk, sauntered towards the door.

Both Jehan and Montparnasse were quiet until they heard the clang of the heavy metal door shutting. Jehan frowned and kept his gaze downcast.

“Jehan, I-”

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.”

Montparnasse was silent, and the weight of it grew on them.

“I know why,” Jehan finally whispered, and Montparnasse looked up. “I know why you left and didn’t tell me… It’s not that I’m upset about.”

“What is it then?” Montparnasse pushed.

“It’s just…” and Jehan sighed and fought back tears. “It just suddenly hit me that I could lose you. And I think you’ve realized this means you could lose me too. But I think we both have to accept that it’s something neither of us can control. We chose this. _We _chose this.”

“I’m always going to choose to worry about you,” Montparnasse replied. “You could get hit by a bus or Tholomyes could come for you. And here I am, miles away, unable to know, unable to keep you safe. I’m putting you at much at risk as I am putting myself, my dear. I am very sorry.”

“I would take all your risks if it meant you were safe,” Jehan said. “And that is my choice to make.”

“Foolish of you,” Montparnasse laughed softly. “But I know that. You’re very stubborn. I would just never wish you to.”

“But I would.”

“I know,” Montparnasse replied. “You’re crazy and I love you.”

Jehan snorted and smiled into his lap. “Well you’re terrible. But I love you too, nevertheless.”

Montparnasse tried to smile, but ended up yawning instead.

“Is it late there?” Jehan asked.

“Early,” he replied. “Too early.”

“I should let you get back to bed, lazy,” Jehan teased, but Montparnasse shook his head.

“Which of your ridiculous friends are you going to ask to date you?” he asked.

“Probably Courfeyrac,” Jehan mused.

“COURFEYRAC?” Montparnasse exclaimed.

“Well, I’d ask Grantaire,” Jehan admitted. “But I think even Javert is aware that he’s head over heels for Enjolras at this point.”

“Ugh,” Montparnasse groaned, flopping back in the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to anyone who doesn't ship Courfeyrac/Jehan, but it seemed the most plausible fake-dating scenario to dupe Javert!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac and Jehan go skating, and Javert still has questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real content warnings for this one besides discussion of crime.

The next morning, Jehan received a dozen red roses, with the note _For luck, my love_, scrawled in an unfamiliar handwriting. He had plaited some of them into his hair before the meeting that evening.

“Pretty roses,” Courfeyrac commented as he joined Jehan at the table. “Does this mean your love has returned?”

“About that…” Jehan began, blushing slightly. “I could use your help with something.”

“Oh really?” Courfeyrac drawled, leaning in closer on the table, his head propped up in his hand. “Need help wooing your Black Knight?”

Jehan made a gagging sound and a face, and Courfeyrac pouted.

“I can handle that on my own, thanks,” Jehan admitted. “This is more… I need help getting him back.”

“How so?” Courfeyrac asked, and for once, he actually looked serious.

“How would you feel about pretending to date me?” Jehan replied in a rush, and Courfeyrac laughed, a smirk splitting into his face.

But then he sighed and leaned back into the bench, draping an arm around Jehan’s shoulders and gazing out at the bar.

“This could be a mutually beneficial relationship,” Courfeyrac began, and Jehan desperately shook his head.

“Nothing serious,” Jehan insisted. “I’m flattered Courf, but this is purely show business.”

Courfeyrac shushed him and waived his hand dismissively.

“I more meant that I, too, have someone that could use a round of jealousy to get their act together,” Courfeyrac explained, and Jehan frowned as he followed the glare that Courfeyrac was levelling at an oblivious Combeferre from across the room.

“That’s not…” he began, but Courfeyrac turned to face him and winked.

“Of course that’s not what this is about…” he trailed off sarcastically and Jehan huffed and resigned himself to his fate.

* * *

“Where’s the first date supposed to be?” Babet asked one afternoon as they sat in a café together. This was the most normal meet up with the Patron-Minette Jehan had experienced yet.

“Ice skating,” Jehan groaned, sipping his latte. “Except I can’t skate.”

“No, this could be good,” Babet replied. “That’s a cliché couples activity. It will look cute. Also, Javert will be around to see you if it’s during the Winter Festival.”

Jehan nodded. “So what you’re saying is I’m not allowed to say no.”

“Nope,” Babet replied, picking up his bag. And with that Babet left the café.

* * *

“Don’t you fucking dare let go of me,” Jehan insisted, clinging desperately to Courfeyrac as his skates glided along beneath him.

Courfeyrac laughed. “Prouvaire? Swearing? Goodness me, your bad boy really has had a terrible influence on you…”

“I’m being serious, Courf,” Jehan pleaded. He let out a yelp as he slipped, but Courf braced his arm and kept him from falling.

“You’re doing great, kid,” Courfeyrac encouraged, but Jehan just huffed.

“’Parnasse would never even think of taking me to do something this ridiculous,” Jehan muttered under his breath.

“Oh ho ho,” Courfeyrac smirked. “And what exactly is an ideal date in the middle of winter for you two?”

“Hmmm maybe a walk in the park, see the lights,” Jehan mused, and clung tighter when a person zipped past a little too close to him. “Or warm at home, curled up in blankets with candles and books and…”

“He reads?” Courfeyrac asked in mock shock. Jehan tried punching Courfeyrac in the arm but regretted the motion as it threw him off balance. He just ended up flailing and clinging to Courfeyrac’s shoulders.

“How little you know, Courf,” Jehan bit back instead when he felt more level on his feet.

Courfeyrac spun them to rebalance Jehan and began leading Jehan around the rink as Courfeyrac skated backwards.

“Alright, alright,” Courfeyrac conceded. “Do you want to know why I picked ice skating? Even though I figured you couldn’t skate?”

“Why?” Jehan asked, exasperated as he shuffled along with Courfeyrac.

“Because my parents wouldn’t let me take ballet as a kid,” he explained. “But they let me take figure skating for ten years.”

“Are you sure it isn’t because ‘Ferre is volunteering at this event?” Jehan asked as they slowed to a stop by the boards. The two turned to look where Combeferre was handing out hot chocolate to a group of children. He caught their eyes and nodded as the two of them waved in his direction. Waving made Jehan wobble and he clung to the boards.

“It’s not about that at all,” Courfeyrac feigned indifference, but Jehan just smiled fondly.

“Alright _Monsieur patineur_,” Jehan teased. “Go prove it. The middle of the rink is pretty empty.”

“You sure?” Courfeyrac asked, but his eyes lit up with delight at the prospect. Jehan nodded, and Courfeyrac sped off around the rink before landing a perfect jump in the middle.

Jehan clapped his mitts together and cheered, but his enthusiasm toppled him and he finally tumbled to the ice as he flailed. Courfeyrac weaved over, extending a hand to a flustered Jehan.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” Jehan admitted, allowing Courfeyrac to help him to his feet.

“You’ll get this,” Courfeyrac affirmed. “Soon you’ll be so good that you can take Montparnasse skating.”

“HA!” Jehan laughed, clinging tighter to Courfeyrac. “Could you imagine?”

But Jehan’s mirth was sullied as he caught sight of Javert over Courfeyrac’s shoulder, and he frowned.

“What?” Courfeyrac asked, glancing over his own shoulder.

“No, no, no!” Jehan insisted desperately, as his hand holds pulled away with the twist. “Don’t you go doing that now! Don’t let me go!”

Courfeyrac laughed and turned back to Jehan, continuing to lead him around the rink.

But of course there was only so much Jehan could take, and he eventually took a seat alone on the sidelines to give Courfeyrac a chance to speed around the rink without a clingy beginner weighing him down. He watched Courfeyrac spin out ambitious figure skating moves until someone sat down on the bench beside him.

“Monsieur Prouvaire,” the stranger addressed.

“Inspector Javert,” Jehan nodded back. He tried not to hold his breath.

“Enjoying your evening with Monsieur Courfeyrac?” he asked, and Jehan smiled.

“Yes,” he replied on a rush of breath. “Ice skating is certainly interesting. I’m glad to have a capable teacher.”

Javert nodded, then added, “I take it you haven’t heard from Montparnasse?”

Jehan bit his tongue. “Have you still not caught the gentleman?”

“Not yet…” Javert growled.

“Goodness,” Jehan sighed. “I have not spoken knowingly with this Montparnasse, as you call him, so I am afraid I cannot help you, sir.”

Jehan turned and cheered as Courfeyrac landed a jump to cover up for any tells of his lie.

“I do sincerely hope you make progress with your investigation, Inspector,” Jehan added for good measure, turning back to Javert with a straight face.

“Monsieur Prouvaire,” Javert bit. “I must warn you against covering for this scoundrel…”

But Javert was cut off by Courfeyrac sliding up to the boards where Jehan was sitting.

“Who’s this?” Courfeyrac asked casually.

“Inspector Javert was just asking if we were enjoying our evening, _dear_,” Jehan explained, and Courfeyrac looked confused for a moment, before rolling with it and engaging Javert in conversation about the Festival’s activities. Jehan nodded but stayed silent and let Courfeyrac drive the conversation.

“Do you want to make a few more laps before the rink closes, Jehan?” Courfeyrac asked suddenly, and Jehan desperately agreed.

“It was good to see you, Inspector,” Jehan dismissed himself.

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Courfeyrac whispered when they were out of earshot on the other side of the rink. “Who are you trying to make jealous? Montparnasse or the Inspector?”

“It’s better if you don’t know,” Jehan explained, and thankfully, Courfeyrac simply nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting very ridiculous and I'm sorry. We should be back on track soon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan touches base with the Patron Minette and Montparnasse cries into his wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for implied sexual relations, alcohol, and sad Montparnasse.

“Javert’s still asking questions,” Jehan stated as he stormed into the Patron-Minette headquarters and blindly flopped down on the couch the next afternoon. He was lucky Gueulemer was out that day and not taking up his usual space. Claquesous and Babet turned with raised brows from their respective positions on either side of the room.

“Hi?” Babet asked, and Jehan sighed.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” he explained. “Courfeyrac and I spent the entire evening together and Javert still came over and tried to guilt me into giving up Montparnasse. I’m just not a good enough liar, I guess.”

“You’re better than you think,” Claquesous murmured from his corner, and Jehan leaned up on his elbows to raise an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t trust you,” Claquesous elaborated. “I followed you.”

“Great!” Jehan exclaimed, flopping back down dramatically on the couch with a flourish of his arms. “You know all this already. What’s the point of me being here then?”

Babet and Claquesous shared a knowing smirk over the couch and Babet said, “Because with you here, it’s _almost_ like ‘Parnasse never left at all.”

Jehan scoffed. “I’m nothing like him.”

“You have more in common than you think,” Babet explained, then frowned. “Maybe you just need a more convincing lie.”

“An evening out does not a romance make,” Claquesous added deadpan.

Babet gave Claquesous a weird look before turning back to Jehan.

“Maybe if Javert saw you going home with Chillowack, or whatever his name was…”

Jehan sighed. “Courfeyrac. And I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to that.”

“It might not,” Babet said. “We’re close to figuring out how to clear ‘Parnasse’s name. We know that Tholomyes’ entire operation was hinged on a dirty cop in Javert’s force. The question is just who.”

“How do we find that out?” Jehan asked.

“I don’t know,” Babet replied, and Jehan frowned. “But if we can expose them and turn blame for the robberies, ‘Parnasse can come home.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Jehan asked. “Since Javert insists on bothering me still.”

There was a beat of silence before Claquesous coughed and said “Best not.”

“Why?”

“You can’t get hurt,” Babet explained.

“I am more than capable of taking care of myself,” Jehan insisted, sitting up and crossing his arms.

“Are you sure about that?” Babet asked. “It’s one thing to hold your own against your friends. It’s another to tangle with… our types.”

Jehan frowned and fixed Babet with a cool, level-headed gaze that gave him shivers. He recalled a similar gaze on Montparnasse. It was a look of unshakable certainty.

“What exactly do you think Montparnasse and I do in our free time?” Jehan said slowly.

“_Christ_,” Babet swore under his breath and shifted his gaze to Claquesous who was trying to hold back laughter.

Babet sighed, and rummaged in a drawer.

“Fine, fine!” he conceded. “At least take this.”

He tossed Jehan a cellphone, and he caught it.

“I have a phone,” Jehan replied.

“Yes,” Babet bit back, frustrated. “But not one that’s untraceable.”

“If you find anything,” Claquesous finally said.

“Call,” Jehan finished.

* * *

The other dates were largely dull and predictable. Dinner and a movie, followed by a meandering, round-about walk past the police station. A picnic, when the weather turned more favourable, in a part of the city that Javert was patrolling. A surprising suggestion from Claquesous for a bar on a tucked away street in a dark part of the city that turned out to be one of the best places Jehan had ever visited.

That’s not to say that Jehan wasn’t enjoying his time with Courfeyrac. The two had always been amiable friends, but it was trying to keep up the act. Not to mention that Jehan was very aware that as time passed, he was losing Courfeyrac to Combeferre’s growing attentions, and Jehan had no wildly jealous Montparnasse to fill the void. Not that Jehan hadn’t been daydreaming about what a wildly jealous Montparnasse might be like, of course. But Jehan was starting to think that Courfeyrac pitied him for it, and that was almost, somehow, worse.

And Javert had kept his distance, keeping Courfeyrac in the dark, but thwarting Jehan’s search for information. Perhaps the ruse was working, Jehan thought, though it didn’t bring Montparnasse home any sooner.

The Patron-Minette had been increasing their distance as well. Jehan would go weeks without hearing from anyone, and more often than not, contact was just to confirm that everything was going according to plan.

Instead, a shadow fell over Jehan. It was a melancholy he was not unfamiliar with, but he had staved off for some time as of late. But now it wrapped around it him like a familiar embrace, the record player crooning slow ballads of a different era, and a second glass of wine poured for someone who wouldn’t be coming to visit.

It was those records that gave Jehan the idea for one final date with Courfeyrac before cutting him free.

* * *

_It’s Thursday_, Montparnasse thought sadly to himself, taking a slow sip from a glass of red wine. Placing the glass back down on a mosaicked patio table, he worried the glass between his fingers.

He seemed to worry a lot lately.

He tried to find distractions. The travel helped. He had begun to network into the underworlds of the places he visited, and the odd job here or there brought back a bit of the thrill he had been missing.

But nothing could satisfy the itch he had just to reach out and hold Jehan. It was driving him mad.

He would admit he had thought about trying to scratch that itch with the first beautiful person to cross his path, but he knew it wouldn’t be the same. It was worse than heartbreak, Montparnasse thought. At least if Jehan had left him, there would be closure. But this… this knowing that Jehan was out there and waiting and he couldn’t go to him…

Montparnasse was a man of action and this waiting game was going to kill him.

It was on evenings like these that he missed Jehan the most. The moon was as full as his glass and a musician was busking on the street corner and Montparnasse knew that Jehan was sitting alone at home when he should be there.

Worse was the worry that kept him up at night, worry that anything could happen to Jehan and he’d be the last to know. Babet kept him updated at his request, assured him that Jehan was fine and they were making sure he was safe, despite Jehan’s insistence he could take care of himself. But it had been months since he heard Jehan’s voice.

His phone sat face up on the table, his third since he’d left home. He was usually a man of taste, someone who abhorred the trend of setting the faces of loved ones as the lock screen of their phone. But there was Jehan’s face, a smile captured in a screenshot from the last time they spoke. A solitary tangible reminder.

He caved and unlocked his phone. The number had been dialed for an hour now, just waiting for Montparnasse to send the request.

He brought the phone to his ear and thought about Jehan and the warmth of his apartment, contrasted against the cool night air of this German town. And the phone rang. And rang. And rang.

Jehan didn’t answer, but it didn’t stop Montparnasse’s heart from jumping when the voicemail kicked in. Jehan’s cheery voice reminding him to be nice to plants and to leave a message. And then it beeped and Montparnasse hung up.

And then he called again. And again. Just to hear Jehan’s voice. He didn’t think about how he would have to throw his phone into the river after this. He didn’t think about moving again or the risk he was taking.

He just bit his lip and cried.

He was sitting on a patio, in the middle of nowhere Germany, listening to the same voicemail recording on repeat, drinking red wine, and crying.

God, he was such a white girl.

And when his tears had stopped, his glass was empty, the tab had been settled, and Montparnasse was on his last call of the night, he waited for the beep and then whispered, “Je t’aime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay maybe I made Montparnasse a bit dramatic, but it felt warranted.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan has one last fake-date with Courfeyrac, and it doesn't exactly end as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of content warnings for this one. Alcohol, blood, stabbing, attempted murder, anxiety, kidnapping, and stitches I think are the main red flags.

Courfeyrac and Jehan were having a wild afternoon at the local summer music festival. Jehan was dressed in a cute denim romper, and the two danced and sang and drank their youth away into oblivion. The Amis had also decided to tag along to the event, but Jehan clung to Courfeyrac’s side for most of the day. And it wasn’t until Courfeyrac was tipsy enough to stop masking the looks he was throwing at Combeferre that Jehan left him to find some water.

The tent Jehan entered was crowded and it wasn’t long before he was pushed and shuffled behind the ordering desk. He was desperately trying to make his way back into the drink line when a hand closed around his hair and tugged him back into a dark, sectioned off part of tent.

“Ah!” Jehan shouted at the sharp pain in his scalp. “Stop! Hey!”

As the person continued to tug Jehan farther into the dark, Jehan tripped lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. Still the person did not relent their grip on Jehan’s braid, and he cried out, one hand scrabbling at the ground, the other swinging out wildly in the dark. This hand closed around his captor’s where they had his braid wrapped tightly in their fist.

He was being dragged somewhere, and despite trying to twist around, couldn’t see who was behind him. He tried pulling back and flailing at the hand tangled in his hair, but his captor just tugged harder, and Jehan screamed as he was tossed to the ground in front of his captor. He tried to scramble to his feet but the other person kicked him in the side and pushed him back down. The phone in Jehan’s pocket skittered across the floor and the other person picked it up.

“Can’t have you calling for help now, can we?” they said, slipping the phone into their pocket, and Jehan swore he knew the voice.

Looking up, Jehan recognized the person as Javert’s partner that day in his apartment. He was in plain clothes, but his sneer was familiar. He frowned as Jehan tried again to stand.

Jehan held his gaze level-headed as he bit back, “What do you want, officer?”

The officer tutted. “Not an officer, right now, am I?”

The officer slowly stepped closer to Jehan, but Jehan’s veins sang with drunken courage and he rushed forward into the officer’s face, trying to shove him out of the way. But the officer stood his ground, looping an arm swiftly around Jehan’s throat, and pulling his arms behind his back.

“If this is some kind of shakedown for the Inspector,” Jehan wheezed out. “I won’t stand for it. I have rights!”

The officer spat on the ground when Jehan mentioned Javert, and he grimaced.

“I’m not here for that rotten, goody-two-shoes detective,” the officer shouted. “Oh no, you’re in deep now. The law can’t protect you from us, _petit oiseau_.”

Jehan frowned at the nickname, and stumbled as the officer pushed him into a stack of water bottles. Jehan caught the click and glint of a switchblade in the low light. He gasped and clawed at the arm that the officer was pushing across his chest, learning his whole weight into Jehan. The officer smirked.

“We know who you are, Jehan,” he said. “And we know how _special_ you are. You know more than you should.”

The officer was close enough now that Jehan could feel his breath across his face. He flicked the switchblade threateningly. Jehan fought a whimper and failed.

“We’re not terrible people, we were going to let it go,” the officer continued, and Jehan found that difficult to believe considering the current situation. “But Javert seems keenly interested in you, and with how much you know, my boss didn’t like that. And it never hurts to set an _example_.”

The officer lifted the switchblade and pressed it to Jehan’s face. Jehan sucked in a breath between his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Maybe not,” the officer chided and shook his head, tapping the flat of the blade against Jehan’s cheek. “Let’s not go marking that pretty face, now. I want Montparnasse to remember _exactly_ what he lost.”

Jehan was terrified. _This_ was the dirty cop they had been looking for, and now he wouldn’t get a chance to tell anyone.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to beg and beg… but no, he had made this choice a long time ago. He had made this choice the minute he fell in love with a nefarious gentleman, and never looked back. He swallowed and bit back the tears, fingernails digging into the arm of the officer. He shoved his feelings as far down as they would go, and fought for the cold, level calm of control.

“You work for Tholomyes,” Jehan said slowly, glaring blankly at the officer. Jehan could feel the officer’s resolve falter as the knife pulled away from his face. “I suppose I knew this was coming. Well, make it quick then. Dying for one’s lover is such a _romantic_ thing, don’t you agree?”

The officer’s brow furrowed in confusion at Jehan’s steadfastness. Jehan had the audacity to quirk an eyebrow and tip is head over slightly, so his throat gaped.

Suddenly, voices broke over the din.

“Jehan? Jehan!?” voices called into the crowd. Jehan recognized them as belonging to Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Eponine, and Grantaire. He gasped in surprise.

The officer also turned his head around in alarm, and Jehan saw his chance. Placing his hands on the officer’s chest, he shoved the man as far enough away from him as he could. Then, making sure to keep his thumb out of his fist as Montparnasse had taught him, Jehan swung and caught the officer clean across the face. In surprise, he lashed out wildly with the switchblade, slicing a deep cut up the outside of Jehan’s forearm from his wrist to his elbow. 

Jehan screamed, and slammed his other fist down on the officer’s arm, making him drop the switchblade. Through the adrenaline, Jehan grabbed both the officer’s shoulders and brought the officer’s head down over his knee. He shoved him away, and the officer toppled back into where cartons of beer bottles were stacked, the bottles crashing over him.

Jehan gasped through the shock, hands covering his mouth. He couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and they came down streaming and silent. Jehan could feel the blood pouring from his arm with his racing heartbeat and it snapped him back into reality. He rushed out of the tent, hands grasping wildly at the fabric to find the exit back into the main part of the tent.

When he did, he burst through and immediately met Enjolras’ eyes across the crowd. Enjolras pushed through to Jehan with fierce determination, toppling other patrons in the tent.

Enjolras frowned as he grasped Jehan’s shaking arms and gasped as he pulled away, his hand wet with Jehan’s blood.

“What the hell happened, Jehan?” he asked desperately, trying to put pressure on the gash with both hands now, and the others caught up to them in the corner.

“Who hurt you!?” Courfeyrac asked, alarmed. They were starting to draw the attention of others in the crowd.

Jehan’s eyes were wide with desperation, and he met Eponine’s almost knowing gaze and said, “We need to leave here. Now.”

Eponine nodded. In a flash, she sheltered Jehan’s head and face with her jacket and led the charge out of the tent.

* * *

“_Mon Dieu_,” Joly swore when the Amis approached their vehicles. He quickly began rummaging in his bag. “Jehan, what happened?”

Jehan couldn’t reply, and Joly quickly took notice.

“Shock,” he said. “Bossuet, my love, find a blanket please.”

Joly inherited Jehan’s bleeding arm from Enjolras’ grip as Bossuet draped an itchy woolen blanket over his shoulders. Jehan hissed as Joly began to clean the cut precisely.

Combeferre was busy diving up the Amis into vehicles when it hit Jehan. He had to call the Patron-Minette. _He knew who the dirty cop was._

He dug in his bag for the emergency phone with his other hand.

“Hey Jehan,” Joly tried to say soothingly. “Keep still while I do this.”

When he pulled out the phone, Enjolras frowned.

“Did you get a new phone?” Enjolras asked carefully, and it caught Combeferre’s attention.

“No,” Jehan said simply, trying to open the single contact in the phone with shaky fingers. “I have to call someone.”

“It can wait Jehan,” Combeferre said.

“No, it can’t.”

“Jehan,” Joly cautioned, gripping Jehan tighter as he pressed gauze to the gash.

“Let me go,” Jehan shouted, trying to pull away from Joly. The fear on his face must have been clear, because Joly didn’t hesitate to release him.

“Jehan, I’m not going to hurt you,” Joly insisted, as Jehan cradled his injured arm against his chest.

“I know,” Jehan bit back as he started to walk away from the Amis, but Combeferre placed a gentle hand on Jehan’s shoulder. It spooked Jehan and he gasped.

“It can wait,” Combeferre said patiently. “We’re going to the hospital. Get in the car.”

“What?” Jehan asked shakily.

“Jehan,” Combeferre sighed. “You need stitches.”

“Can’t you give me stitches?” Jehan asked. “You’re a nurse.”

Combeferre smiled softly, but shook his head.

“I could,” he began. “But there are more than capable doctors at the hospital. Not to mention, you haven’t told us what cut you and you don’t want that to get infected.”

“It was… a knife,” Jehan admitted.

“A _knife_?” Enjolras added. “We need to talk about what just happened.”

Jehan frowned, ignoring Enjolras, and shook off Combeferre where he was gripping his shoulder.

“One call,” Jehan insisted to Combeferre. “And then I’ll go.”

Walking away and tucking in behind another vehicle, the dial tone rang out and Jehan was worried no one was going to pick up.

“Go.”

Jehan was surprised that it was Claquesous who answered.

“Javert’s partner is the cop working for Tholomyes,” Jehan said, shakier than he would have liked.

There was silence for a minute, and Jehan wondered if Claquesous had hung up. Jehan’s arm stung and he could feel the gauze slipping off. He wedged the phone between his head and his shoulder so he could hold his bleeding arm while he talked.

“How do you know?” Claquesous asked slowly.

“He just…” and Jehan’s breathing shook as he fought off tears. “He attacked me. Said some things about Tholomyes.”

“Are you hurt?” Claquesous asked in a rush, and Jehan wondered if he was imagining the tinge of worry in his voice.

“Not really,” Jehan lied.

“Where are you?”

“I’m leaving the festival,” Jehan replied. “I’m… with friends.”

“Where are you going?”

“The hospital,” Jehan said.

“Why?” There was definitely worry in Claquesous’ voice now. Jehan could hear his breathing quicken.

He sighed. “I need stitches.”

“_Fuck,_” Claquesous seethed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Really, ‘Sous,” Jehan insisted. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not. Text which hospital you’re going to.”

The line clicked.

Jehan sighed and sank down to the ground, holding his face to his hands, and wincing as the movement pulled at his gash. The gauze was almost already soaked through. His fingers were a mess of wet and dried blood and he tried to wipe off his good hand on the grass. He sensed someone next to him but didn’t look up.

“Someone working for Tholomyes attacked you?” Eponine asked, and Jehan just nodded. “You knew this could happen.”

“I know,” Jehan replied. “I knew.”

“Are you going to tell them what happened?” Eponine asked, gesturing back to the Amis.

“Eponine,” Jehan sighed. “You of all people know I can’t.”

Eponine helped Jehan stand and brushed him off a little.

“Come on,” she said. “Grantaire and I are coming with you to the hospital. We’ll help you cover.”

* * *

The drive back into town was mercifully silent, as was his phone after getting Eponine’s help to send a message with the name of the hospital, Jehan’s dominant hand currently out of commission. Grantaire craftily worked to stave off Enjolras’ righteous anger, and it hadn’t taken more than a glance from Eponine to silence Courfeyrac and Combeferre. Jehan was expecting Combeferre to object to him dozing off the exhaustion suddenly hitting him, but he ended up falling asleep for most of the ride.

The emergency room was full with all the simple injuries and accidents that warm weather seems to bring to those out enjoying it. But as a stretcher rolled in from the ambulance outside, he knew enough of triage to know he would at least be waiting a bit. He tried to think up something to possibly say to the triumvirate that would pacify them.

However, the receptionist’s eyes went wide when Jehan handed her his identification for the paperwork.

“Monsieur Prouvaire,” she addressed. “We’ve been waiting for you. The doctor will see you shortly, if you would just follow me…”

Jehan was surprised, but followed wordlessly. When the doctor appeared, she seemed to check the hallway suspiciously before pulling the curtains tightly closed. She frowned when she turned to Jehan.

“I can wait,” Jehan expressed. “I know there’s other patients…”

But the doctor shook her head.

“No, it’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that when Babet calls ahead, whoever shows up usually looks a lot worse for wear than you do. Unless you’re hiding a broken rib or something.”

“I don’t think so?” Jehan’s brow furrowed and he returned the frown. “Babet called you?”

“Can you breathe alright?” the doctor asked instead, and Jehan nodded.

“Besides what I would usually expect from my anxiety, yeah,” he explained.

The doctor hummed.

“We’ll check anyways,” she said, preparing equipment. “And he usually calls. It helps make things quick and easy when you get into trouble as much as they do. Though, you’re new.”

The doctor’s tone was light and casual, as though they were talking about the weather rather than her regular treatment of a bunch of criminals. It unsettled Jehan slightly. She pressed her gloved fingers against his side and he winced.

“Hmmm…” she began. “Not broken, but that’s going to leave a nasty bruise. How do you know Babet?"

“Uh…” Jehan trailed, trying to figure out how to explain this while the doctor peeled off the soaked gauze and cleaned the cut again. “Through Montparnasse?”

“Ahh, yes,” she said, stopping to tap the side of her nose knowingly with a clean finger as she threaded a needle for the stitches. “You’re the boyfriend I’m guessing. Montparnasse talks about you when he’s in.”

“He’s in a lot?” Jehan asked, suddenly worried. The doctor directed him to place his arm flat on a little table while she examined the gash.

“He doesn’t tell you?” she laughed. “I suppose he wouldn’t. He’s in more than the others, but he comes in for even superficial things, like tiny cuts on his face. The others usually patch themselves up for something like that. I can’t even begin to tell you how many sloppy stitches I’ve had to pull while trying to fix something else.”

“He told me once he’d rather bleed to death than let Babet near him with a sewing needle,” Jehan admitted and the doctor smirked.

“A wise choice, considering the stitches I’ve seen,” she agreed. “Especially if he wants to keep that pretty face of his.”

Jehan smiled softly and tried to be brave as she began the stitches, but he still winced at the tug on his skin.

“Shhhh,” she soothed. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

It took her scarcely a few minutes, but it felt like ages to Jehan.

“You know,” she said as she applied a few bandages over her handiwork and finished up the paperwork. “I’m surprised Montparnasse isn’t here. I would have expected him to get here before you did.”

Through his panic, Jehan had forgotten exactly what had caused all this mess in the first place, but now it all came rushing back to him, and his heart sank.

“He’s… away,” Jehan explained. “On business.”

The doctor winked, and said, “Shame, really. I would have let him in to hold your hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! Sorry for all the angst.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan gets a summons, Enjolras and Claquesous have a fight, and Jehan has a heart to heart with Javert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carry over of the violence/blood warnings from the last chapter, general fighting, kidnapping, implied crime, getting caught lying.

Jehan was on his way back to the waiting room with a lollipop and a bag of assorted care items when the burner phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a message from his own phone, the one that had fallen out of this pocket when Thenardier attacked him.

_Monsieur Prouvaire. Let’s talk. Midnight tonight. – Tholomyes_

The text was followed up by a screenshot of a map to a non-descript location.

Jehan swallowed and leaned against the wall. _Fuck_, he swore to himself in his head. The phone was shaking where he held it in his good hand. _Get a hold of yourself, Jehan. You are bigger than empty threats. You’ll figure something out. _He took a deep breath.

“Everything alright?” the doctor asked when she noticed him standing in the hallway.

Jehan smarted when she approached, and stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

“Yes, just catching up,” he lied and smiled at her.

She followed him back to the waiting room, only to see Enjolras and Claquesous glaring daggers at each other from across the space. The minute he saw Jehan, Gueulemer rushed up faster than any of the Amis could, fretting gentle fingers over Jehan’s injury.

“Shit...” Gueulemer seethed. “’Parnasse is going to kill me. He’s going to kill all of us.”

“Oi,” the doctor bit back. “Who are you, questioning my handiwork?”

Gueulemer left Jehan’s side to sing the doctor’s praises. And Jehan was immediately rushed by everyone else.

“Thank you, Fantine,” he said, kissing her head. “Thank you. Thank you. Montparnasse will probably still kill us, but at least we can say we tried.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll be seeing you soon, then?” she asked, before turning and calling another patient.

“Listen, Jehan,” Claquesous whispered, taking Jehan’s good arm gently. “We have to go.”

“Go where?” Enjolras bit back, getting up in Claquesous’ face. The two continued their staring contest, and Jehan could feel the tension thick in the air. He wasn’t sure who was winning from his vantage point, but when Claquesous let go of Jehan to roll up his sleeves, Jehan stepped around Enjolras to stop the fight.

“Enjolras,” Jehan warned, but Gueulemer cut in.

“To the police office, obviously,” he said. “Jehan needs to report a crime.”

“We can take him,” Courfeyrac insisted. “We were there.”

Jehan was expecting someone else to reply, but both Gueulemer and Claquesous just looked at Jehan.

“I…” Jehan trailed.

“Jehan, they’ve caused you enough trouble already,” Enjolras insisted. “It’s time to end this. You don’t have to go with them.”

“Enj,” Grantaire growled warningly. “That’s enough from you.”

Jehan set his jaw and made to speak, but was cut off by Combeferre.

“I think what Enjolras is trying to imply,” he said carefully. “Is that you may feel safer with us than them considering the present circumstances.”

Jehan still frowned, and his hand twitched as he held back the desire to look at the phone in his pocket again. “I’m going with them.”

He turned to leave, but Enjolras grabbed him. Grantaire stumbled back, pushed by Enjolras when he tried to stop him.

“I can’t let you do this, Jehan,” he seethed. “This isn’t the right choice. You’re safe with us. They’re the ones who did this to you. They’re the ones that got you hurt! You can’t go with them.”

“I got myself hurt!” Jehan shouted, surprising even himself, and drew the attention of others in the waiting room. “I chose this. I accept the consequences. Now let me go!”

Jehan tried to shake off Enjolras, but he held steadfast. Claquesous and Gueulemer moved to help, but stopped when Eponine held up a hand and spoke.

“Whoever hurt Jehan,” she began, bringing everyone’s voices down to a whisper again. “I’m willing to bet is going to try again. Jehan is safer with the Patron Minette, who can see an attack coming. Not to mention that they can protect him better than we can. They’re going to make sure he’s safe, right?”

Claquesous and Gueulemer nodded.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said Montparnasse would kill us if anything happened to him,” Gueulemer added.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said calmly. “Eponine speaks reason. Let Jehan go.”

There was a pause, and Jehan fought to shake free.

“Fine,” Enjolras bit, releasing Jehan and storming past them out of the emergency room.

“I’ll handle him,” Grantaire sighed, and followed.

“Jehan,” Combeferre said gravely as Jehan turned to leave with Claquesous and Gueulemer. “When you’re ready, please come back and see us. The rest of the Amis will want to know you’re alright. And that includes Enjolras, you know that.”

Jehan nodded. “Of course. I promise.”

“We will probably be at my place,” Courfeyrac said.

He hugged Eponine, Combeferre and Courfeyrac and left the emergency room.

Jehan followed Claquesous and Gueulemer down the street. He lingered a little behind, lost in thought, but the two gave him space to think. He had his hand stuffed in his pocket, his fingers running over the lines of his phone, wondering if he should tell them about the message.

The two members of the Patron Minette were bickering quietly in front of him, throwing together a watch plan for Jehan for the next 24 hours. Claquesous was speaking more than Jehan had ever heard him speak in the short time he had known him, and Jehan could read the anxious tension in both their shoulders. They were worried enough about him already.

Fundamentally, Jehan knew that Enjolras was right. Jehan was only in this mess because of the Patron Minette, vis a vis Montparnasse. But Jehan had also chosen Montparnasse, and so the consequences of that choice were his alone to bear. The decision weighed on him, like counter-balances on a tightrope as he crossed a canyon. He was in the middle of the crossing, on a precipice where the rope swayed in the breeze, and the next few steps would need to be careful ones. They would decide if he would make it across to where a future with Montparnasse was waiting. Every step would be a chance, a gamble.

He turned off the phone.

He had been so lost in his own thoughts that it took him a minute before he realized they were headed towards to closest police station.

“We’re actually going to the police station?” Jehan asked, brow furrowed.

“Well, you are,” Gueulemer said. “We probably shouldn’t set foot in the immediate vicinity.”

“You’re going to report to Javert that Thenardier assaulted you,” Claquesous said.

“Thenardier?” Jehan asked. “Eponine’s dad?”

Gueulemer nodded. “He’s Javert’s current partner it seems. Not sure how Tholomyes managed to pull that one off.”

“I knew he seemed familiar,” Jehan said. “Well what do I tell Javert?”

“That his partner works for a crime lord,” Gueulemer replied, and Claquesous smacked his arm.

“Just describe the assault,” Claquesous said. “We don’t have evidence yet that links Thenardier to the heist, but it will at least get the police suspicious of Thenardier.”

“Be dramatic,” Gueulemer added, giving Jehan a shove towards the police station across the street.

“We’ll meet you back here when you’re done.”

“Why?” Jehan asked. “I should probably go let me friends know I’m alright. You saw how upset they were.”

“If that’s what you want to do,” Claquesous shrugged. “But from now on, you’re not leaving our sight.”

* * *

Jehan threw the doors of the station open as dramatically as he could with only one functional arm.

“I want to speak to Inspector Javert,” he announced loudly.

“I’m afraid he’s not here right now, he’s supervising security at the festival…” someone told him from the other side of the desk.

“Well get him here then,” Jehan insisted and sat down to wait.

It was a boring 45 minutes, but when Javert walked into the police station his eyes immediately settled on Jehan.

“Ah, Monsieur Prouvaire,” Javert said warmly, a smirk cutting across his face. “Here to give up Montparnasse?”

Jehan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No,” he said rather condescendingly. “For the last time, I cannot help you with that.”

“Well then, for what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jehan raised an eyebrow and gestured to the general space of the police station. He then held up his heavily bandaged arm and pointed at it for good measure.

“I’m here to report an assault.”

Javert took Jehan into his office, and Jehan was slightly worried that Thenardier was going to be waiting for him. Thankfully, it was just Javert and Jehan around the dark wood, ornate desk. However, Jehan’s hesitancy must have shown, as Javert said, “I’m not going to hurt you Jehan.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Jehan insisted, as Javert closed the door behind him.

Javert hummed and rounded his desk, indicating for Jehan to take one of the seats in the small office.

“So who attacked you then?” Javert asked, sorting through some papers on the desk.

“Your partner,” Jehan said simply.

Javert dropped what he was holding and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You couldn’t have made my day with news about Monparnasse could you?” Javert sighed.

“This has nothing to do with your stupid investigation,” Jehan growled. “Your partner assaulted me at the music festival. Cut open my arm with a blade. Same man who came with you to my apartment.”

“That was several months ago, Jehan,” Javert said calmly. “Are you certain? Shock does funny things to a person’s brain. Makes them remember what they want to remember rather than what’s actually true.”

“He said your name,” Jehan said. “Said he wasn’t there on your behalf but for a man named Tholomyes.”

Javert’s brow furrowed at the mention of Tholomyes’ name.

“Hmmm, perhaps this does have to do with Montparnasse.”

“How?” Jehan asked. “I just want justice for your partner attacking me.”

Javert took a seat at his desk.

“Look, I already had my suspicions about Thenardier,” he admitted. “In fact, this gives me an excuse to open an internal investigation against him and have him suspended until further inquiries have been made, so thank you for that.”

Jehan cradled his injured arm in his other hand. His heartbeat was racing and it only exaggerated the pain.

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with Montparnasse, or whoever,” Jehan said. “I don’t know him.”

Javert looked down at a paper on his desk.

“I’m not a fool, Jehan. I know you’re lying. I know because I know what someone in love looks like.”

Jehan looked down at his arm and bit his lip.

“You’re worried about him, and rightly so.”

It was silent in the office for a moment.

“I’m worried about him too, you know,” Javert admitted. “He’s a remarkable young man, I just wish he made better choices.”

When Jehan raised his head and met Javert’s gaze, he had made a choice.

“Then why haven’t you arrested me for obstruction of justice?” he asked.

Javert just shook his head.

“Not worth the paperwork, honestly,” he admitted. “Besides, I think we can help each other.”

Jehan raised an eyebrow.

“If I actually believed one person committed that robbery operation singlehandedly, I would be an idiot,” Javert explained. “The thing about justice, Jehan, is that it has rules, and those rules have to be followed.”

Jehan snorted and Javert raised his hands in a pacifying gesture.

“If you’re an honourable man, justice has rules that have to be followed,” Javert corrected. “We’re only pursuing Montparnasse because we currently have evidence he was there that night. But Tholomyes is a much better catch, and if Montparnasse can give us anything at all that might let us arrest Tholomyes, we’d be able to reduce Montparnasse’s sentence significantly.”

Jehan paused for a moment in thought before asking, “And how does that involve me exactly?”

Javert shrugged.

“You tell me. But I hear love can be terribly persuasive.”

Jehan smiled sadly and shook his head, standing from his chair.

“Can I ask you something, Inspector?” Jehan asked, and Javert nodded. “What tipped you off about Thenardier?”

“He had been accused of a couple crimes,” Javert explained. “And he’s been on my radar for a few attempted kidnappings as well. I do my research, Monsieur Prouvaire, and I do it well.”

Jehan nodded, and he turned thoughtful for a minute. Ideas often came to Jehan Prouvaire like this; at inopportune times, running wild and free.

Perhaps Javert didn’t need Montparnasse at all to lead him to Tholomyes, but just someone close enough.

“I think I may be able to help you, Inspector,” Jehan said as he turned to open the door to the office. “Just not in the way I think you’re expecting.”

“Oh, and how is that?”

“I’ll send you a message. You’ll know it when you see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a hot campy mess, but I think this is my favourite chapter so far. I've made Javert kind of ridiculous in this, so it was nice to be able to give him his moment.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan plots and gets some unexpected help from the Amis.
> 
> Montparnasse find out that Jehan is missing and isn't impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for reckless choices? Kidnapping? Ish?

It was dark by the time Jehan left the police station. Despite what the two had told him when he entered the station, he didn’t actually expect Claquesous and Gueulemer to still be waiting for him a block or two away.

But there they were, tucked into the shadows of an alley arguing about something inconsequential. Gueulemer was smoking something and he leaned against the wall across from Claquesous, or who Jehan assumed was Claquesous since he couldn’t make out more than the shadow of a hood. Well that and the flick of a butterfly knife where it caught the light. Claquesous was twirling it absentmindedly through his gloved fingers.

They looked so casual, so calm, and it was a dichotomy to Jehan’s racing heart. He had grown to love this found family as much as his own with the Amis over the last few months. He appreciated Claquesous’ caution and careful attention to detail. He had grown to love Babet’s dramatics and leadership, and his willingness to accept Jehan’s trust. And it had hardly taken Jehan long to adore Gueulemer’s kind-hearted teasing and loyalty to his friends, a loyalty that was quickly extended to include Jehan as well.

He couldn’t bear to see them hurt protecting him. If his love for Montparnasse came with sacrifice, his love for his friends would take sacrifice too. And if that sacrifice was going to kill him, if he couldn’t bear the weight of all those he loved across this tightrope, then he needed to make his amends with his other found family first.

He turned and walked the other way down the street.

* * *

Jehan could hear the Amis before he reached the door to Courfeyrac’s apartment. As was custom for Courfeyrac, the door was unlocked, and Jehan entered to a surprise cheer of his own name.

His friends quickly settled around him, fretting over his injured arm. Bahorel wanted to trade battle scar stories and fighting tips, and Courfeyrac recalled the day’s adventures with hyperbolic amounts of embellishment. It was warm and familiar and Jehan tried his best to take a turn with each of them. But it eventually got to be too much and Jehan escaped from the cacophony to the small balcony. It was less than three hours to midnight and the decision Jehan had to make was weighing on him.

The night air was bracing and Jehan gripped the railing like a vice, trying to quell his anxiety. He shut his eyes and tried to listen to the quiet hum of the evening. But it wasn’t long before someone joined him, the only person he hadn’t yet spoken to inside.

“I wanted to apologize,” Enjolras said, addressing the city below. “It is not my place to police your choices, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Jehan said solemnly. “I know you mean well.”

“I do,” Enjolras agreed. “I’m not always the best at empathy, but I do understand wanting to protect the people you love, even if it’s a reckless choice.”

Jehan hummed and let the silence settle over them for a time.

“Can I ask you something, Enj?” Jehan whispered into the evening air.

“Of course.”

Jehan turned to look at Enjolras.

“How do you make difficult choices so easily?”

Enjolras laughed. “If I make it look easy, I’m a better actor than Courfeyrac claims.”

Jehan smiled back. Enjolras looked thoughtful as he swayed a bit in the high-rise breeze.

“I think it comes down to values,” Enjolras said. “I live by what I believe. I make choices to do what I think is right, and just, and good. And when that fails me and the path to those is unclear, I do what I think is best for the ones I love, no matter the cost.”

“Thank you Enjolras,” Jehan said, squeezing Enjolras’ hand.

“And you know, you don’t need to make these decisions alone.”

“I don’t think you’ll let me make this choice for myself.”

“I sense you’re about to do something incredibly dangerous,” Enjolras said.

“Maybe,” Jehan admitted. “But I think it’s what’s best for the people I love.”

“Then how can we help?”

* * *

It was an hour to midnight and Jehan had one of Courfeyrac’s old phones in his pocket with the burner phone, tricked out with a dozen apps to track his location and record his surroundings. He was currently a solid red dot on a map on Combeferre’s laptop screen.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Jehan,” Combeferre confirmed. “We could just give the Inspector the location to Tholomyes.”

Jehan shook his head.

“The police think Montparnasse was there the night of the heist. But he wasn’t.”

“How do you know?” Courfeyrac asked.

“He had already finished his job two days before. He was… he was with me the night of the heist.” Jehan blushed slightly. “I need Tholomyes to both admit that Montparnasse was not present to invalidate the evidence against him, and admit to doing the robbery.”

Jehan met Enjolras’s eye across the room. He was gripping Grantaire’s hand tight.

He took a shaky breath before nodding and saying, “For the one you love.”

* * *

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE HE IS?” Montparnasse was yelling through the television speakers currently broadcasting his video call with the Patron Minette.

“He was reporting the assault to Javert and then he never came back,” Gueulemer insisted. “We stayed for hours, ‘Parnasse. He ditched us.”

“We tried calling his burner phone, but he has it turned off,” Babet explained.

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,” Montparnasse swore. He was pacing back and forth in front of the camera, his hands tugging at his hair, tousling his perfect waves. “Fuck, what if Tholomyes has him?”

“He probably just went to his friends,” Claquesous said from the corner. “That’s where he wanted to go before the police station.”

“Well how do we contact them?” Gueulemer said frantically, snapping his fingers. “What was his friend’s name again? The one he fake-dated? Corncob?”

“Courfeyrac!” Montparnasse exclaimed. “Do you still have my old phone? His number’s in there I think.”

Gueulemer was scrambling in drawers when the clock ticked over into midnight. An email popped up in the corner of the television screen.

> _S.O.S Broadcast from Jehan Prouvaire_. _Click here to view_.

The muffled voice of Tholomyes crackled over the speakers.

> “Hello Monsieur Prouvaire,” Tholomyes said snidely. “Pleasure to meet you.”
> 
> “Tholomyes,” Jehan snapped. “I would say likewise, but it most certainly won’t be.”

“Tholomyes, that fucking asshole,” Montparnasse swore. “I can’t do anything. I’m in fucking Indonesia of all goddamned places on this wretched Earth.”

Montparnasse had ceased his pacing and was now flailing. The rest of the Patron Mintette were frozen in shock.

Tholomyes’ laughter was like static through the tinny recording.

> “Oh, you’re witty,” Tholomyes said. “I can see why he likes you.”

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!” Montparnasse screamed through the speakers, slamming his hands down on the desk on either side of the screen. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Jehan remained silent.

> “Unfortunately, we can’t stay here,” Tholomyes explained. “You understand of course.”

The speakers picked up Jehan’s quiet gasp, and the grating sound of Jehan’s shoes on asphalt.

> “And if I go willingly?” Jehan asked.

Another email clicked through on television screen.

> _N. Combeferre wants to share a map with you._

With a couple clicks, Babet had the tracking map up on the screen in front of him.

“He’s on the other side of the god damned city,” Babet cursed.

Tholomyes was laughing again.

> “No one goes willingly,” he said. “But you can go without a fight if you choose.”

The rest of the recording was the muffled sound of Jehan struggling, scarcely heard over Montparnasse’s shouting.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Montparnasse said coldly.

Montparnasse swiped his phone off the bed and began dialing Jehan’s number.

“Montparnasse, don’t you dare,” Babet insisted. “You drop that phone this instant.”

“Fuck you,” Montparnasse spat back. “I have to do something. Babet, he’s going to get himself killed because of me.”

“’Parnasse, it’s a trap,” Claquesous urged.

“I don’t care,” Montparnasse said sharply, his voice breaking with tears. “I have to do _something_. _Anything._ I’ll beg if I have to, fuck, I just can’t let him hurt Jehan.”

Montparnasse snapped the laptop shut and cut off the connection.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tholomyes gets a call from Montparnasse, Jehan is taken to a secondary location, Babet gets a call, the Amis and the Patron Minette join sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for anxiety, kidnapping, being tied up, blood, violence, abuse, and criminal behaviour.

Jehan’s head was throbbing where he had banged it being shoved into the back of a vehicle. He fought letting his anxiety get the better of him, but his breathing was short and shallow. Of course, the fabric gag biting into the corners of his mouth and the pillowcase over his head weren’t helping much.

He could just barely make out the idea of shapes and lights through the thin weave. He pulled at the ropes around his wrists and tried to reach out with his hearing to ground himself. Besides the general hum of traffic, Jehan could make out Tholomyes muttering something to the driver. The buzz of a familiar vibration pattern broke out above the din.

There was a tapping on something and the click of a call connecting.

“Jehan, JEHAN!” Montparnasse exclaimed over the phone. “Jehan, run.”

_Montparnasse!_ Jehan shouted for him but the sound was muffled by the fabric in his mouth. Jehan struggled against his seatbelt and rubbed his wrists red against the bindings.

“Hello Montparnasse,” Tholomyes said coldly. “Just the person I was hoping to speak to this evening.”

“Tholomyes what have you done to Jehan!?” Montparnasse growled. “I swear to God, if you’ve hurt him…”

“No such luck just yet,” Tholomyes said. “Though that may change. We’ll see how the evening goes.”

Montparnasse was swearing obscenities through the speaker at Tholomyes, while Jehan thrashed against his bindings in the backseat, groaning with the effort.

Tholomyes clicked his tongue.

“For shame, such a dirty mouth you have, Montparnasse,” Tholomyes chided. “And Jehan, dear, do stop fighting, it will only make it worse.”

“Let him go Tholomyes,” Montparnasse insisted. “He’s not even a part of this.”

“Well that’s simply not true,” Tholomyes said. “I’d argue he’s perhaps the most important part of this entire operation. He’s going to make sure this all goes down on you.”

“Please, Tholomyes,” Montparnasse begged. “Just let him go and I’ll come back. Turn myself in, or whatever you want.”

_No, Montparnasse, no! _Jehan thought. _I’ll be fine. Just stop. Let me do this for you._

“Then do it,” Tholomyes bit back. “Come save your _petit oiseau_.”

The line was silent.

“That’s what I thought.”

Jehan screamed his throat raw against the gag. Lifting his bound hands he banged them into the back of Tholomyes seat and winced in pain, the effort pulling loose the stitches in his arm.

“ENOUGH!” Tholomyes raged, swinging around in his seat to catch Jehan’s wrists. His fingers slipped between the ropes, and Jehan tugged. The bindings loosened, and the slice up his arm split open again. Blood swelled on the bandage. Jehan winced.

“I wasn’t even at the heist,” Montparnasse’s voice broke. “I should be there now. I’m so sorry, Jehan, I did this.”

“You did,” Tholomyes agreed. “If you had just come quietly, then maybe everything would have been fine for Monsieur Prouvaire. But alas, you ran, and you know the consequences.”

Jehan flailed his arms in the backseat. His hands released from Tholomyes hold. He bit down hard on the gag to keep from screaming again.

“Please,” Montparnasse begged again. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to hurt him. Please. Hold him if you have to, but please. I’ll come.”

Jehan’s hands were still held fast, but the bindings had loosened enough that he could open his arms a little, enough to get his arms over his head and shrug the pillowcase off. His long hair fell in thick strands across his face as the pillowcase fell to the floor of the car.

“I just need some time, Tholomyes.”

“I gave you _months_,” Tholomyes said. “And I’m not a cruel man. I was going to let it go. But _someone _had to go and get more involved with the Inspector…”

The car was rolling to a stop. Jehan’s hands scrambled up to his face and yanked the gag sharply out of his mouth.

“Don’t listen to him!” Jehan cried out. “‘Parnasse, please, it’s fine. I chose this too. Please don’t blame yourself. I’ll find a way out of this.”

“Ah, it seems our little bird has found his voice again,” Tholomyes muttered and signalled for someone outside the car with his hand.

“No Jehan, this is my fault. I never should have risked this,” Montparnasse bit back. “I’m sorry, Jehan. Please, please don’t hurt him.”

“I will call you later, Montparnasse,” Tholomyes sing-songed.

“I LOVE YOU!” both Montparnasse and Jehan shouted as the line clicked to end the call.

* * *

Babet’s fingers were flying so fast across his keyboard he almost didn’t hear Montparnasse’s old phone rattling on the desktop, where Gueulemer had tossed it when he ran out the door with Claquesous.

A quick glance over showed Eponine’s name on the screen.

“What?” Babet grimaced as he answered the call.

“Hello?” a voice, that was decidedly _not_ Eponine, said. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Who are you?” Babet answered instead.

“My name is Combeferre,” Combeferre introduced. “My apologies, I am borrowing Eponine’s phone...”

“Look, thanks for the map. I don’t know what you need, but I don’t have time for this…”

“Wait… it’s about Jehan,” Combeferre insisted.

Babet sighed. “Make it quick.”

“I’m assuming, since you answered this call, that you still have Montparnasse’s phone?” Combeferre asked.

“Yes,” Babet grumbled, wedging the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could return his hands to the keyboard.

“We need you to text one of us from Montparnasse’s phone,” Combeferre instructed. “Say that he’s kidnapped Jehan with the address Jehan has stopped at on the map.”

“What?” Babet said. “I’m not doing that.”

“Please,” Combeferre begged. “If the Inspector thinks Jehan has been kidnapped by a known fugitive, that gives him probable cause to rescue Jehan.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous,” Babet shouted. “That good for nothing Inspector is just going to make sure Jehan gets killed. This whole thing is a bloody mess, I’m not going to incriminate Montparnasse further trying to save your stupid friend.”

“This was Jehan’s plan,” Combeferre explained. “He’s going to try to get Tholomyes to confess, that’s why he’s broadcasting.”

“And you agreed to help him get kidnapped?”

“Well… yes, I suppose,” Combeferre admitted. “We don’t have much time. Just send the text. I’m sending you Courfeyrac’s number now.”

* * *

Jehan was shoved roughly into a chair in a large, dark room, his hands unbound and then yanked behind him again. His injured arm seethed when the ropes caught along the open gash beneath the bandage. He was shaking, but his eyes held resolve when he met Tholomyes’ gaze across the room.

“You know, Monsieur Prouvaire,” Tholomyes drawled. “It’s a shame you had to get caught up in this. I may be a criminal, but I have class. I detest hurting people.”

“If you’re going to kill me, Tholomyes,” Jehan rasped, his throat still raw from shouting. “Get it over with already.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Tholomyes asked. “And who said anything about _killing_ you? You’re much too pretty to die.”

Tholomyes ran a finger along Jehan’s cheekbone, and Jehan shied away from the touch as much as he could. Tholomyes leaned down until he was inches from Jehan’s face, and his eyes raked over Jehan’s face hungrily.

“No,” Tholomyes whispered. “I think we’ll just rough you up a little. Call Montparnasse again and make him listen to you suffer.”

Jehan grimaced and spat in Tholomyes face.

Tholomyes jolted back, but then chuckled darkly as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face.

“I knew there had to be fight in there somewhere.”

Tholomyes smirked and turned away from Jehan to walk towards a table in the corner.

“You should have seen it, the robbery I mean,” Tholomyes rambled as he ran his hands over some objects on the table. Jehan couldn’t see what they were in the dim lighting. “It was perhaps one of my greatest achievements. I orchestrated the whole thing of course, but that’s a secret between us.”

Jehan grimaced. “Tell me something, Tholomyes.”

Tholomyes opened his arms in a gesture of good will before clasping his hands behind his back.

“What would you like to know?”

“How did you set up Montparnasse?” Jehan asked. “He wasn’t even there.”

“No he wasn’t,” Tholomyes admitted. “But all it takes is some well placed staging. It helps when you have someone on the inside to tamper with the evidence.”

Thenardier walked out of the shadows at the edge of the room. His face was badly bruised and it looked like his nose was broken. Several of his fingers were wrapped in bandages. He was swinging a pair of scissors on one of his good fingers. Jehan spooked.

“Thenardier,” he gasped, just loud enough to be heard by the phone in his pocket.

“Now,” Tholomyes announced, clapping his hands together. “To get this started, I think we’ll need a little _memento_ of sorts for Montparnasse. And I have someone who is simply _dying_ to get even with you.”

To add to the melodrama, Thenardier raised the scissors and clicked them together. The _snip snip_ noise echoed around the empty room. Jehan swallowed hard.

Tholomyes and Thenardier rounded on either side of him. Tholomyes reached out and tucked some of Jehan’s wild red hair behind his ear. The move was so intimate, it made Jehan shiver.

Suddenly Thenardier had his fingers wrapped tightly around Jehan’s braid and tugged, the way he had that afternoon at the music festival. It drew a gasp from Jehan as the tension wrenched his head back, his throat open and exposed.

“We’ll be taking some of that,” Tholomyes said.

Thenardier, the bastard, ran the flat side of the scissors across Jehan’s throat. The metal was cold on his skin and Jehan couldn’t help but let out a quiet whimper.

Then the scissors opened with the sharp sound of metal on metal and sliced efficiently through Jehan’s braid.

The release of the tension flung Jehan’s head forward into his chest, his uneven red hair tumbling around his face, no longer contained in the long braid. Jehan gasped from the whiplash.

He breathed hard for a few minutes. When he looked up again, Thenardier was holding a fistful of his hair like a trophy.

“Why Montparnasse?” Jehan asked through his laboured breathing.

“Hmmm?” Tholomyes turned and faced him.

“Why. Montparnasse.” Jehan said again, stronger this time. “Why not anyone else?”

“Now can I break that fucking pretty face of his?” Thenardier grumbled, tossing Jehan’s hair down on the table of instruments in a messy pile with the scissors. He began rolling up his sleeves.

Tholomyes held out his hand in the signal to wait and paced to the other side of the room. He grabbed a chair out of the shadows and dragged it gratingly across the floor to a spot in front of Jehan. He sat down in it backwards and braced his arms on the back of the chair.

“The thing you have to understand about being a criminal, Jehan,” Tholomyes explained. “As that you usually don’t have a lot to lose. It makes walking the line of the law a lot easier when you aren’t tied down to anything. Everything we do is flighty, passive, gone in a blink of an eye. You shouldn’t have been more than a fling to Montparnasse. An itch to scratch. But Montparnasse… He fell for you, didn’t he? He fell for that pretty face of yours, your wit, your charm. Montparnasse tied himself down, chose the burden of love. And oh… that means he had _everything_ to lose.”

Tholomyes stood from the chair and came up to hold Jehan’s face gingerly in his hands.

“You _ruined_ him, Jehan. And now we’re going to take it all away from him.”

Tholomyes smiled and gave Jehan’s cheek a playful tap. When he stepped away, Jehan’s vision was filled with Thenardier, arm raised to strike. Jehan squeezed his eyes shut as Thenardier brought his fist down hard, clean across Jehan’s face.

Jehan’s vision swam with tears and his face stung with the blow. Despite the ringing in his ears, Jehan could just make out the sound of sirens before he slipped into unconsciousness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert gets the signal. Claquesous and Gueulemer arrive at the secondary location, Montparnasse frantically tries to travel home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as last chapter for kidnapping, blood, violence and abuse. Also police. And lying to police. And having to tolerate Courfeyrac's drama. There's paramedics? Also crying? Some crying.

Javert really should have gone home by now, but some instinct told him to hang around and wait for Jehan’s signal. He was trying to catch a bit of a nap in his office when his computer beeped with an email.

> _S.O.S Broadcast from Jehan Prouvaire_. _Click here to view_.

The email address was just a long string of numbers and the body of the email simply read “You’re welcome. - B”

_The signal_, Javert thought, and frantically clicked the link. The recording was tinny and echoey, but decipherable.

> _“No,”_ said a voice Javert didn’t recognize. _“I think we’ll just rough you up a little. Call Montparnasse again and make him listen to you suffer.”_

The recording was silent, but for the shuffling of clothes, and then the man laughed.

> _“I knew there had to be fight in there somewhere.”_

A pause.

> _“You should have seen it, the robbery I mean,”_ the man continued. _“It was perhaps one of my greatest achievements. I orchestrated the whole thing of course, but that’s a secret between us.”_
> 
> _ “Tell me something, Tholomyes.”_

That was Jehan’s voice, Javert recognized.

At the mention of Tholomyes name, Javert was up out of his seat and scrambling for the door. He just had to trace the broadcast to an address and…

For the second time in his shift, the doors to Javert’s precinct were thrown open dramatically.

“Oh someone help! Please help!” Courfeyrac wailed, in full hysterics as the handful of young men entered the station. Javert stepped out of his office.

Enjolras slammed his hands down on the reception counter.

“Our friend has been kidnapped!” Enjolras announced. “You must go for him immediately!”

“Oh Inspector!” Courfeyrac cried, spotting him across the room. “Please, it’s Jehan! You know Jehan!”

Hearing Jehan’s name, Javert came up to the counter. What he was not expecting was for Courfeyrac to drape himself over him and cry into his shoulder. Javert tried to pat his back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.

“His evil ex-boyfriend has gotten his revenge and stolen him away,” Courfeyrac sobbed.

“What he’s trying to say,” Combeferre said. “Is that he’s been kidnapped by Montparnasse. Look.”

Enjolras held out Courfeyrac’s phone. There was a text from an unknown number that read:

> _This is Montparnasse. Bring $50,000 and your best pair of shoes to the following address if you ever want to see Jehan again._

The text was followed by a map that showed a location not far from the station.

_This is your signal?_ Javert thought incredulously. The whole thing reeked of falsehood, and if Javert hadn’t just listened to Tholomyes threaten Jehan, he would have dismissed the whole thing as a foolish prank.

Courfeyrac slipped out of Javert’s arms and draped himself over Combeferre instead so Javert could get a better look at the phone.

Javert turned to the other officers who were watching the spectacle.

“This is our chance to get him!” Javert announced. “Let’s go.”

Once the police had left the building, and the secretary had sufficiently assured Courfeyrac that the police would find his boyfriend, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras left the station holding styrofoam cups of hot chocolate.

“My parents always told me that acting school was a waste of my time,” Courfeyrac commented with an air of pretention. “But I think I would have been quite the brilliant actor if I do say so myself.”

Both Combeferre and Enjolras rolled their eyes.

* * *

Claquesous and Gueulemer were booking it down the streets of the city as quick as they could. Babet had texted them an address the minute Jehan stopped moving on the map.

_Be careful. _Babet had texted. _Jehan’s stupid friends are alerting the police._

“What’s the plan?” Gueulemer panted as they approached the location.

“I don’t know,” Claquesous replied.

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

Claquesous glanced over at Gueulemer.

“Shut up.”

“You always know what to do,” Gueulemer lamented.

“Yeah, well I’m panicking a little here, alright?” Claquesous grumbled as they turned a corner.

“Okay, there’s well… what? One guy?” Gueulemer asked. “Just Tholomyes. The two of us can take Tholomyes.”

“That’s stupid,” Claquesous spat. “There’s definitely going to be more people. Tholomyes doesn’t fuck around. We’ll have to sneak…”

Claquesous jogged to a stop as they rounded the corner and saw emergency vehicles surrounding the building, sirens flashing brightly.

“Shit,” Gueulemer swore.

Claquesous looked around for cover, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Javert bringing a red haired person out of the building, draped in a blanket.

Gueulemer must have noticed too, because in a moment, he shot off in the direction of the police shouting, “Jehan!”

“Gue!” Claquesous hissed, and chased after him, pulling his hood tighter around his face. “You _fucking idiot_.”

Jehan looked up at the call of his name. His hair was shorter, and he seemed to be trying to both cradle his injured arm and hold something to his face at the same time. Claquesous could smell the metallic tang of blood as they approached.

Gueulemer’s hands were fretting all over Jehan, Javert stepped away to give them some space.

“Gueulemer,” Javert addressed, but Gueulemer ignored him, his full attention on Jehan.

Javert panned his eyes over and met Claquesous’ level headed gaze. He scowled.

“_Le Cabuc_,” Javert addressed him, and Claquesous simply nodded slowly.

“Jehan… Jehan! Oh my god, you’re alive!” Gueulemer gushed, shaking Jehan by the shoulders. Jehan winced, but pulled Gueulemer into a partial hug. To do so, he had to pull his hand away from his face.

It was Claquesous’ turn to wince. Jehan’s nose was bleeding, and the whole left side of his face was already bruising. There were small cuts across his cheek where he must have been caught by a ring. Claquesous had been on the receiving end of a punch enough times to know that there were probably fractures.

When Gueulemer pulled out of the hug, he gasped. Jehan’s hand rushed back up to catch the nosebleed.

“Montparnasse is _definitely_ going to kill us,” Gueulemer said.

A smile peeked out from behind Jehan’s hand.

“I’ll put in a good word for you,” Jehan mumbled through his plugged nose.

Javert coughed behind them.

“Jehan needs to be taken to the hospital,” he said. “Will you both be joining him in the ambulance?”

“You get to see Fantine twice in one day!” Gueulemer exclaimed. “Or is it two days? Does it count as one day even though it’s technically the next morning…”

“Very well,” Javert said. “I should get back to the arrests.”

Gueulemer was already leading Jehan to the ambulance, where a paramedic was running over with a sling and an ice pack.

“And _Le Cabuc_,” Javert addressed, and Claquesous turned. “You two were never here.”

Claquesous placed his hand over his heart in thanks and nodded a final time, before following Jehan and Gueulemer like a shadow.

Jehan had Gueulemer text ahead, and the Amis were waiting for them at the hospital when they arrived.

* * *

It was the longest, and most restless seven hours of Montparnasse’s life. He had taken the first plane leaving Indonesia, and despite the lack of signal while he was in the air, it didn’t stop him from checking his phone constantly. He would have been up and pacing the aisles if he wasn’t stuck in a middle seat between a sleeping man and a screaming baby.

He could barely breathe, his heart was racing, and his hands were balled into fists so tight his fingernails were digging into his palms. The plane wasn’t going fast enough, he wasn’t going fast enough. Nothing was going to be fast enough. His fury must have shown on his face, because all the attendants gave him a wide berth.

He wanted to smash his fists into the seat in front of him, but that wasn’t going to do anyone any good. And so he fought to calm his breathing, and plan every last way he was going to make Tholomyes’ life a living hell.

When he ran out of ideas for that, he prayed to every God that he could think of that Jehan would be alright and this nightmare would be over. He’d never leave Jehan’s side, give up his life of crime, anything they wanted in return for Jehan to make it out of this alive.

The minute the plane touched down in India, he frantically refreshed his phone, waiting for a signal, _any signal_ to click in.

“Come on, come on..” Montparnasse muttered out loud as he ambled aimlessly through the airport.

Eventually everything clicked through and there was a text from Babet.

_Whatever nonsense you’re doing, you can stop, _the text read. _We have Jehan._

_I don’t believe you_, Montparnasse texted back wildly.

He started making his way towards the departures desk with purpose to catch the next plane that would take him anywhere closer to home.

His phone buzzed again, and he stopped. It was a picture of Jehan, giving him a thumbs up from the back of an ambulance.

“Fuck,” Montparnasse swore, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. Jehan looking like living hell, but fuck, he was alive. Jehan was alive.

Montparnasse crossed over the closest bench and cried.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finale. Montparnasse gets a passport to come home. A promise I made several years ago is fulfilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the first chapter with no warnings!

It was still several weeks before Montparnasse could come home. In that time, Tholomyes and Thenardier had been arrested and charged, and miraculously, the rest of the Patron-Minette had not been implicated in the robbery.

With the evidence against him proving to be falsified, Montparnasse’s name was cleared, but there was still the matter of getting him a new passport to come home with, just to be safe.

Babet had instructed Montparnasse to meet the correspondent at a small café attached to a hotel in Barcelona, Spain. They would be wearing a large, blue hat, Babet had said.

The afternoon sun in Barcelona was sweltering in the summer heat, but that didn’t stop the patio of the café from being a crowded place. It was a riot of colour, and it took a minute for Montparnasse to pick out the wide-brimmed, blue hat, the correspondent’s face obscured behind a plastic menu.

Montparnasse waited until the hostess was distracted with another guest, and crossed the street, lifting a menu from the desk. He swiftly sat down in the chair across from the correspondent and raised his own menu.

“Forgive me for not wanting to swap pleasantries,” Montparnasse said. “But let’s get this over with quickly, shall we? I want to get home.”

“I’m not so sure,” said a familiar voice. “I could do without all this sun, but the wine selection on this menu is incredible.”

Montparnasse dropped his menu and stared.

_It can’t be_, Montparnasse thought. _You’re delusional. You’re fucking imagining his voice now…_

His hand was shaking as he reached across the space between them and let his fingers rest on top of the menu of the correspondent. He slowly pushed the menu down to reveal Jehan’s smirking face.

Montparnasse’s chair clattered to the floor, causing a scene as he practically scrambled over the table. Jehan laughed, but was caught off guard when Montparnasse scooped him up and pulled him towards him. The hat floated to the ground. Montparnasse gathered him to his chest, his face pressed to the crown of Jehan’s head.

“_Mon amour, mon amour, _Jehan, Jehan, Jehan…” Montparnasse rambled. Jehan wrapped his arms around Montparnasse’s waist. “Oh my god, Jehan.”

Montparnasse was shaking, and Jehan tried to rub soothing circles into his back.

“Shhhh,” Jehan hushed. “I’m here, ‘Parnasse. I’m here and I’m fine.”

Montparnasse let out a shaky breath as tears began to slip out of his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Jehan said, pulling away slightly so he could see Montparnasse’s face. “Are you crying?”

Jehan’s fingers reached up to brush the tears from his cheeks. Montparnasse laughed a little hysterically.

“I’ve been doing that a lot,” Montparnasse sniffled. Jehan smiled, and Montparnasse brought his fingers up reverently to fret over Jehan’s face. There were still a couple bandages from where things had not quite healed as expected, and Jehan winced a little when Montparnasse ran a finger down the bridge of his nose.

Montparnasse pulled back sharply.

“I’m fine,” Jehan insisted. “Just a little touchy in some spots, that’s all.”

The rest of the patrons of the café had since gone back to their drinks, but the two just held each other close, swaying slightly back and forth.

“Jehan,” Montparnasse broke the silence. “Jehan, I’m so sorry…”

“Shhh,” Jehan said, placing a finger over Montparnasse’s lips. “It’s over now, love.”

“I can’t believe I’m not dreaming,” Montparnasse said. “I almost lost you.”

“And I’d risk it all again,” Jehan admitted, curling his hand around to hold Montparasse’s face. “Just for you.”

“I can’t ask of that of you,” Montparnasse frowned.

“Then I’d risk it all for this life we choose,” Jehan said instead. “Together.”

“Together,” Montparnasse agreed.

“I love you,” Jehan whispered.

Montparnasse knocked Jehan’s hand away and brought his lips down to Jehan’s in a searing kiss, his own fingers tangling in the ends of Jehan’s now shorter hair. They scarcely broke to breathe before diving in again. Eventually Jehan stopped them with a hand on Montparnasse’s chest, his gaze downcast. But he was smiling.

“I love you,” Montparnasse whispered back, placing his hand over Jehan’s and pressing his lips to Jehan’s temple. Montparnasse’s heart raced against Jehan’s palm and it was the most grounded either of them had felt in months.

When Jehan looked up again, Montparnasse snuck another kiss, and Jehan hummed, pulling away.

“Perhaps we should continue this elsewhere,” Jehan said. “After all the trouble we went to, it would be a shame to get arrested for public indecency.”

“Oh, and that’s not worth the risk?” Montparnasse smiled.

“Babet would kill me,” Jehan joked. “I had one job.”

Montparnasse laughed, slung an arm over Jehan’s shoulder and led them back inside the hotel.

“Private indecency is fine though, yeah?”

It was Jehan’s turn to laugh. He placed his hand over Montparnasse’s on his shoulder.

“I think we can manage that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a prompt and turned into this rambling mess so congrats if you made it to the finish! I hope you got something out of it... a laugh or drama or whatever.
> 
> Freckle, I hope you enjoyed it at least after this very long wait.
> 
> If you want to chat, I'm fishandchipsandvinegar on tumblr.
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
